251 Boots on the Ground

His boots trudged over grains of sand which began as boulders—monoliths of strength and bravado—each a memorial obelisk to some victory to come, envisioned by the ones who conscripted the marchers and fitted them into their boots. These memorials were meant to outlast the memories of soldiers and politicians, despots and leaders, wolves and sheep. Yet, memorials stand impermanently, worn down by the endless boots on the ground.

His cause was righteous, as are causes borne by boots. He trudged on in groupthink, the continuum from patriotism to jingoism, in battle song discordant and choppy. Boots on the ground kept time, measured in heart beats: each soldier was allotted so many.

His comrade grumbled, "What am I doing here? Where am I going?"

Our young man ignored him, knowing what he was doing here; knowing where he was going, via the metered cadence of the forced march. He couldn't sing or dance—only accept and follow. But he knew uncertainty was dangerous to the righteous cause.

"Onward. Stay the course," he trumpeted. "Our cause is just and right. Don't be seduced by quandaries. They lie."

"Still..." his comrade said.

"Still is stagnant," he answered. "Still is backwards. Still is defeat!"

"Haven't we learned anything?" his comrade asked.

The boots trudged on, wearing down forgotten monuments. Mountains became molehills.

"I learn what's taught!" our young man proclaimed proudly.

"Aren't you curious about what's not taught?"

"Ridiculous!"

"Yes, and that's why I'm leaving."

"Leaving the cause?"

"Not my cause."

"It's everyone's cause."

"Not the cause of those we attack."

The young man didn't like this. It didn't harmonize with the battle song. He remembered something he had been taught: Overthinks are weak links. Overthinks beget jinx. He retrieved his sidearm and raised it to his comrade.

"Are you willing to die for what you believe?" he challenged.

"I can die; or live a lie."

"It's not yours to decide what's right. Choose what we're taught."

"Who knows what's right? Those who teach us?"

"We know!" he said, squeezing the trigger.

His comrade fell, boots last, with only one thought in his head racing ahead of the bullet that chased it: another monument worn down to dirt where nothing grows.

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AUTHOR'S NOTES:

For Satirday, September 7, Day 251 of the 2024 Story-a-Day Challenge

366 WORDS (without A/N)

Accompaniment photos were AI-generated but the cadence wasn't.

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THIS CHALLENGE MARCHES ON, 366 BOOTS AT A TIME.

There are currently three surviving, drilling, patriotic Vocal pairs of boots still marching in the 2024 Story-a-Day Challenge:

• L.C. Schäfer, (Parade Marshall)

• Rachel Deeming (Charade Marshall)

• Gerard DiLeo (Escapade shoal)