They fight on ruins of the past.
Sand of radioactive deserts melts under armored wheels of their battle cars, under rays of heavy lasers and fire of plasma guns, melts of their rage and despair, of hate and fear, and clouds boil above places of their battles, and drops of poison rain evaporate before they reach the ground.
Their fuzzy edges pass by fuel forts and fortified cities; pass before objectives of automatic cameras and barrels of heavy guns protecting peace of survivors in the last war. News talk about them, worldwide information network watches them, mobile cameras track every their step from the sky covered with dust.
They watch their life, their hate, their freedom.
Freedom of butterflies flying to the open fire.
Flashing and burning stars of Meganet, reality-shows broadcasted on whole planet.
Doesn’t matter who they are – raiders, soldiers, mercenaries… why they hadn’t found place in safety of city walls and challenged desert. Doesn’t matter what they feel and what they think when they kill each other.
Those who watch their battles on neon panels will never understand it.
They will not see how ancient highways appear through the sand, how mirages of ancient cities tremble in the sky at noon, how sun rays play on slopes of dunes burnt by atomic fire. They will never know how smells wind didn’t passed through air filters, and what is the sound of waves of not radioactive ocean, falling on feet of semi destroyed sky-scrapers.
They’ll see only things they will be shown – battles and death.
They will read names on electronic planes of totalizator, in announcements of future show.
But they will never know, what’ve been feeling those who were looking on the world through electronic screens of battle cars, those who prefer to burn, not long, but still bright.
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