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ISSY HEALING  
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Death roamed around biding his time, took a cigarette break although he’d been told they were a killer. ‘May I speak, how far do we go. Is there happiness crowded out by me. What's the point of this? Are you happy is this clappy for you please?’
Caring Issy takes a vow of healing, confronts the pain and fights it, a different sort of war. She lifts her patient’s head and allows a few sips of juice, wipes the sweat from her eye. ‘I’m weary of this, mend, repair, who really cares, on and on forever, not what I meant to do, thought a finer calling, not making cannon fodder.’
The man in the banner hat, smelt like rat, was a mess inside but his charming face sent them to the race to kill them. Difference you see, they weren't as he, so he bombed and called them bastards, any word would do, so long as everybody knew there was a cause not just random killing. They were split right through, a tune apart, still their heart not worthy see 'cos they aint the same as we, just a waiting tragedy. Failed the test of being human by the lights that were just being written.
All battles won undone eventually. But in this new made now Issy fights to fix the riven and the rent, a touch of knowing you, in the darkness. She bent down over the ruined child, closed her eyes and prayed. ‘But I say is there more forgiving here, can there be a chance for more like pleasance, is it always an eternal strife we’ve come to know and that is my religion then. Where do we go when dead, if all of life is locked in strife, their way no way else.’
Hidden away behind the trees the soldiers sat cleaning hands, scraping blood that never lifted, not even with the praying. A rightful war, a legal one, won before it started but you gotta make the effort and create the show, how else you gonna say, with hands held forth, don’t look at me guv just following orders. Light a fire, make a pyre and burn them up, no evidence of the consequence of our actions. Little bleeders heaped, their souls go off for keeps. Just a corpse a sign to see reduced to ash, trash, sweep it under the carpet please. No one wants to know, its a hell of a show and that's where we're all going.
Issy steps outside to steady herself, rolls a cigarette, Amy bums a drag. Issy shouts to the dark. ‘Forgive and forget your horrors please, not a deterministic fight, there’s just not room for gloom, gloom, gloom, overshadows all with its massive shadow, lift and heave, tear the weight of it off, give a wing a prayer to some other sound, break new ground.’
Issy believes in life, detests the deathly bursts of hatred, kneels to heal not sat upon her higher horse. A warrior of caring, fights to mend the broken, the ones who have no voice to hurl against the demon of despair, the greed, the need of hatred, the unseen boss who directs our own self loathing and places it on to any one but me.
Evidence was skimpy, though they tried their best to prove it. Shouted from on high that they were sorry that it had come to this but no war is fought without a cause because of course they needed the fig leaf to mask their spite. Still it seeped out all around, a dirty dog chasing chickens, then tearing out their throats.
The man with the hat swaggers inside. ‘Finding fault is easy,’ He spreads his arms, ‘finding else, the way of peace is a road that I would rather travel now. I have seen so much smash and grab, it all pours down the well. A century hence who would know or care, just a faulty reasoning. We fight for a crown and burn the rest of you, join the queue, what’s in it for me, what’s in it for you?’
Issy pushes through the guards. ‘You’re not making paradise, its just a grief thing, a forgotten war that springs to fore when the camera sings, publicity, notoriety, who really spoke in terms of that from the slab when dead.’
Death flows inside, looks in Issy’s eyes. ‘All the cares, the healing, are shredded by the ticking clock. In the mountains hangs the icicle so pure, drips its colours and they flow to me, to you, drink, know your fill of it, no more kill of it, lets begin another song this one is too weary to sustain another verse.’