1 minute read
Callie S. Blackstone
Your Future Love
Picture the map: flat on the wall of your grade school classroom. Picture the solid blue background, pierced by triangle waves; the solid masses of color that represent continents, countries. Trace your fingers around the compass, violet and red borders. Find the border outlining the country you have learned is called Iraq. He is there, in the future. He is there, and he is holding a gun. You do not know who he is. Who is the man who easily wears the costume, the camouflage, that even you in the second grade understand equates death? The blackness of his shined boots signifies extermination. He is the end. The end of the map, the unexplored, the unobtainable. You will never reach him, your fingers will fall off the slick paper, and you will find yourself groping for him in the middle of the night for the rest of your life.
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