The night was warm, the gelignite was hot. The plot was thick. And Jenny's being sick in the bathroom. She's six months gone and will it have a chance or simply wither in the womb... The room was thick with smoke. Photographs of martyrs across the wall. There's brother John shot down at the cenotaph (yes, we'll remember!) Sister Astrid, now corrected - never says a word. The list goes on and on. The bombs, the blood... For every guilty death there's 20 more. The limbs go flying across the floor, and no-one's crying anymore. Just caught up in the crossfire - and Jenny wants her child.
You wanted easy answers. You want a tidy end. Don't you know you've got a lot to answer for? You wanted shining heroes. You wanted sparkling knights. BUT THEY'RE GONE. You chose your grave. Lie there.
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