“Go! Go!”

I can still hear their footsteps,
but I am alone now–
and I can hear other footsteps coming.

All we wanted to do was create a life here.
I wanted the Hoisington name to last.
And it might, if I can do my job.

There are soldiers arriving and civilians retreating.
My family are among them.
And I am here, now, alone.

It’s impossible to know what will approach
this snowy hill.
I have enough ammunition for some,
but not all.
But perhaps it is enough.
In the eyes of God, my life doesn’t matter.
But maybe theirs do, the families I’ve sent away.
Or maybe not.
But it is my lot to try and hope
that they are worth my life.

Here they are.
Christ, there’s a lot of them.
They just burned down my favorite inn,
which seems unnecessarily cruel.

I have rations for maybe one more meal.
Let’s get them in before the shooting starts.

It’s cold.
Lucky thing is I’m unlikely to feel cold ever again.
So let’s take this coat off and get ready.
Here they come.

They believe I am more than just one man,
which is good.
This was the point.
It’s a lie, but a necessary one.

I think of my wife, children, and friends.
I hope they have made it to safety.
Hopefully, they have, and my life won’t matter.
But if it eclipses here too soon,
it will have mattered to them a great deal.
(Or not.)

I am not a great man nor an important man.
My role has come to be that of one who stalls–
as long as he can–
those that would destroy that which we love–
our city.

They are coming closer now and there are far too many.
But this is the path.
Lay yourself in front of as many bodies and
deflect as much violence as you can.
And hang all the rest.

For Posterity,

Job Hoisington