"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep."

The last stanza of Robert Frost's

" Stopping by woods on a snowy evening ". I credit this poem for getting me interested in poetry, I loved the beauty of its simplicity yet for me it expressed something so profound about life... for we all have miles to go before we sleep. (When I first read it, I nearly cried.)

Unless one is as into Great War literature as much as myself, I doubt that they have ever heard so much as the name A. D. Gristwood. Yet, he was, in my opinion, an even better war-story author than Remarque and Hemingway. All of these gentlemen were Great War writers, and yet, I think that Gristwood trumps the other two greatly. Like Hemingway and Remarque, Gristwood’s tales are believed to stem from his own experiences in the Great War. Gristwood was in the British military, wounded twice over the course of his service,

He is quite unsung, however, because he faced a problem that many other authors have faced: where to seek publication? Finally, sometime after the Great War had ended, Gristwood landed his first book, “The Somme” (and later, “The Coward”) in the hands of H. G. Wells, a popular author and publisher at the time. It is likely the case that the only reason why these two books ever even made it to the shelves of a public bookstore was because Wells forwarded it. And I agree with Well’s claim about the works: the dead do not write books, and so the only stories that a civilian can read to understand war are the ones written by the survivors. But Gristwood’s books, he continued, came close to a book by the dead.

Indeed, Gristwood does not focus on dialogue, imagery, or even character development, so much as he stresses the internal fear, anxiety, and dread felt by his main characters. The emotion his poor soldier’s suffered, and the challenges they faced, and the actions which they took to evade and survive them…These are not stories of bravery, they are stories of realistic and logical fear and cowardice.

In fact, Gristwood’s own life seems morbidly poetic in its own right. It is largely believed that Gristwood had self-inflicted a wound to evade combat the second time he was wounded, and that is presumed to be the inspiration behind “The Coward.” In fact, Gristwood’s work holds the best quote I have ever read in literature: “Fortune favours the coward.” For truly, it would seem that the main character in “The Coward” only survived because of his cowardly action, an action that was prompted by pure fear and utter terror of death. And, in life, the coward, though not often the winner, tends to come out of any given dilemma the least scarred.

Although, perhaps Gristwood was wrong, however, because, in 1933, at the age of thirty nine, he committed suicide. He had been diagnosed sometime earlier with post traumatic stress disorder (then termed “shell shock”). A few years prior to his untimely demise, his books had been taken out of print after a few unsuccessful years. The only way I was even able to read his two short books was because they were reprinted within the last two decades by a Great War library, and I happened to be in loose acquaintance with the designer of the new cover. Gristwood’s tales do not make war seem romantic for even an instant: they show how truly awful the practice is, and how far its victims will go to evade it.

After you turn twenty-five, life accelerates at an incredible pace.

Health is not a given. My prostate needs urgent attention, as do my knees.

People who were once your friends are becoming strangers.

Sometimes you are the bad guy.

There's no such thing as karma. Sometimes bad people win and never face consequences.

You can’t save people.

Doing your best and making sacrifices do not guarantee success. You can speak as many languages as you want, have multiple degrees and certificates and still be doing a monotonous shitty job or be rejected at the simplest of jobs.

Work is not fun. My coworkers are not my friends. My boss doesn't care if I am happy. HR is there to protect the company from me, not the other way around. I am replaceable no matter how intelligent and diligent I may be.

Merit is bullshit.

I am nowhere near as intelligent and attractive as I thought I was.

$100 is actually not a lot of money. Less so, when your currency is in a free fall, and so is your salary. Making $700 a month sucks, more so when you have to pay $150 as a monthly mortgage installment.

No matter how much you care for and value someone, they’re never obligated to be the same to you. Especially friends.

In a relationship, love is not just enough.

Nostalgia is always a liar.

Worrying about what others think is pointless, most people are so caught up in themselves they barely know anyone else exists. Don’t let your ego convince you that anyone gives a shit about what you’re doing.

The idea of God is basically Santa for adults.

Alright, let’s finally talk about Dead Space.

Depending on who you ask Dead Space is one of the most famous (or infamous) science fiction survival horror game in existence. It was developed by Visceral Games and published by EA, which is a company known to send fear into the heart of gamers everywhere. Set in the far future, you play as an engineer named Isaac Clarke (a nice homage to science fiction authors Isaac Asimov and Arthur C. Clarke) traveling to a large mining ship called the Ishimura to do some repairs. Unfortunately as you arrive you find that the entire crew has been killed and reanimated into monstrocities called Necromorphs. The only source of this outbreak comes a mysterious artifact known as the Red Marker. You must fight your way and survive against the onslaught of Necromorphs as you uncover secrets about the Red Marker and the Ishimura, as well as try and find your girlfriend Nicole, who is stationed somewhere on the ship.

This game is famous (or infamous) for two main reasons:

1) It is terrifying. I mean it. This game is scary as balls. When I was younger I couldn’t even finish the game because I was so terrified to progress any further. That’s a testament to its infamous legacy.

2) It is extremely violent and gory. The amount of excessive blood and gore is enough to turn any gamer away. If you’re someone that’s not a fan of this kind of content then avoid this game if possible.

A major positive towards this game is the lighting and atmosphere. Much of the ship is in darkness, creating the most eerie atmosphere in space since Ridley Scott's original Alien. You're constantly looking over your shoulder and around every corner because you know that's when the Necromorphs are hiding and they'll pop up any given moment. They'll pop out of vents, they'll pop out of the doors, they'll burst through the walls. There's no such thing as safe on the Ishimura. This is how you do horror in a video game right, aside from having a bunch of monsters run out and attack you. The first 10-15 minutes of the game (which I'm sure most are familiar with) are without a doubt one of the most terrifying moments in the games.

The second positive is the game's combat. Unlike in other survival horror games, the necromorphs are not like traditional zombies. Shooting them in the head won't do a damn thing. If you want to put them down for good you gotta take out their limbs. And the weapons you use are not really weapons. They're engineer tools because the character you play isn't some space marine or super soldier, he's an engineer, so you use what you can.

The graphics are another major positive. This game was made back in 2008 and the graphics really do hold up very well today. Everything on the ship feels and looks very real like you yourself could be apart of this universe. It makes it feel very alive, despite the fact there are shit ton of dead bodies and necromorphs everywhere.

I'm also in love with so much of the backstory and lore within this game's universe. For example, you learn that the Ishimura is out in illegal space and their main operation is to retrieve the Red Marker for a religious group known as the Church of Unitology. Think of them as a combination of Evangelist Christians and Scientology. You can actually learn more about the backstory and the Ishimura's crew through a series of diaries and audio logs that are scattered throughout the ship. I must warn you, the audio logs are one of the most eerie things I've come across. A majority of them are about how some crew members have when crazy after discovering the Red Marker (which is one of its many sinister affects) or how the crew is desperately trying to stave off and survive the Necromorph outbreak. The most disturbing audio log involves a crew member dismembering his own limbs so he doesn't hurt anyone should he turn into a necromorph. It's pretty fucked up and it keeps you up at night. I would love to talk more about the story and of Dead Space but sadly there's too much to cover in this review.

There are also plenty leave plenty of room and quiet time to do some puzzle solving. You'll need to do these in order to progress through the game. Some are pretty, others are pretty challenging. But what I like about these puzzles is that they serve as a welcome break from all the Necromorph-slaying you'll have to do throughout the game. Trust me, after the 50th Necromorph that's tried to kill you you could use a breather because this game doesn't offer a lot.

Sadly I can't go into more details such as talking more about the story due to trying to contain this review under 1000 words. There's also not much to criticize either. I will say that one criticism I do have is that there isn't much character development in the game. You don't really get much character out of Isaac Clarke, who is pretty silent the whole game. They fix that in the sequels which I consider an improvement. Overall, I do consider Dead Space one of the most terrifying games I've ever played. If you want to try the game, its available on Steam and backwards compatible on all systems. Just play it with the lights on.

Positives:

-Lighting and atmosphere

-Pretty damn scary

-Great combat

-Amazing graphics

-Puzzle solving

-Lore and audio logs

Negatives:

-Lack of character development

Final Grade: A

So those are my thoughts on Dead Space. Have you played this game before? What were your thoughts on it? Please be kind, leave a like and comment, and check out more reviews here on Prose!

#harrysituationreviews #videogame #gaming #opinion #EA #scifi #horror #survival #AGrade

Chloroplasts churn

until they don’t, and

the dessicate thing

can only clasp the bark

so long.

Wind separates the stem;

leaf falls to earth atop

a dozen more.

A hundred will follow

tomorrow

on every block

in every forest

and will again next year

from the same dimple on

that branch

where no one sees.

Kneel.

Lift it.

Nothing more

beautiful and vital

will ever touch your palm.

My doorbell rang and when I opened it, it was my neighbor's next door son standing there.

"Hello, Teddy. What do I owe to this unexpected visit?"

"I need to talk to somebody about my mom."

Teddy's voice sounded nervous and he wouldn't look at my face, and kept staring down at his tennis shoes.

"Well, come inside and tell what seems to be the problem."

"Mr. Wiley, my mom's in the hospital. She has that virus thing."

"The Covid-19, you mean."

"Yeah, and I don't know what to do."

"I would imagine you should be talking to you father about-"

"My dad left three days ago; the Army sent him to Syria."

"Oh, then you do seem to have a problem. So then, tell me, how can I help?"

"I...I don't know. I just thought cause you're smart and all that, you could give me some advice. I'm scared she might die."

"Teddy, let's not think the worse just yet. She is in the hospital, so obviously she'll get expert care. Of course one issue you have is that you won't be able to see her anytime soon because of the hospital's..."

"I tried calling but some lady on the phone kepr saying for me to call back in a few days. That I have to wait until they do some tests on her."

"Teddy, my boy, that's just part of their protocol. In the military they call it Standard Operating Procedure. It's for her safety and well being, and you have to consider the doctor's and nurses have a huge responsibility with the amount of patients they have to attend to, so I would say just give it that few days they mentioned. Things will work out fine."

"You think so?"

"Of course."

"Thanks for listening to me."

After the last statue comes down, after the last book is burned, after the last voice of opposition no longer speaks, what then?

Do the new revolutionaries begin building something better?

Will freedom ring for all as you were told?

Will no more lies be told as you were promised?

Will everyone get what they were promised as you expected?

If history is the example, how many such utopias made it past their second day?

Ever wonder why?

What if we change the promise to a "worker's paradise"?

Do you feel better?

Will Boxer and Benjamin work even harder than before?

Does history look favorably upon this vision?

Will your children?

Did you fall for the assurance that everything will be free?

How do force a doctor to work forever in your best interest for free?

Why should a farmer rise before dawn to give away the fruits of his labor (and his labor)?

Does anyone remember the Soviet Union?

Is it better to be a Karen or a Kulak?

Does it matter after you you are collectivized?

Can you petition the old government for a redress of grievances when the new government you wanted is the source of your grievances?

Will the new oppressors support your freedom to inquiry?

Or complain?

Or seek justice?

Or will you enjoy the uniform distribution of misery slaves call equality?

No tyrant educates a population to overthrow them, only to use them.

The Bolsheviks needed the Mensheviks only until the death of the Tsar. Then only one version of the truth, one vision of the future, one story teller was required.

Hitler purged the membership of his own party (Night of the Long Knives) thus eliminating competition to his war plans.

Fidel didn't lose any sleep upon the death of Che.

The new government always kills the enemies of the revolution and then the enemies of the state and then the enemies within the state.

Search the "Reign of Terror" if you still can.

Or, simply move cautiously within the bubble of ignorance that shields you from reality.

You will make an amusing target in the new world order.

You just won't know it.

My body has melted

As ice set under fire

The pant I wore

Loose as a child

In a battle with diarrhoea

The breeze is as scorching like sun

The warmth I feel was wrath

So painful as lovers parting ways

My eye red as hot as charcoal

All my thoughts swimming in perjury

Oh my dear soul

My furry hands

As a child denied her lunchbox

My spores ooze out sweats of blood

My strength was taken away by a pit of misery

Oh my dear soul

My hands touch nothing but despair

I am famished by the strokes of despondency

Oh my dear soul

My heart pants

Faster than the running streams

Speedometer slower to the noise of my agony

I am in a web of depression

Oh my dear soul

My contentment is only anger

My visitors are thoughts of suicide

Oh my dear soul

Although, one of my visitors asked?

Why all these upon you?

Why all I see in the chambers of your heart is misery?

My silent look

My drop of tears

Burst in anger

My heart explodes

Oh my dear soul

Just a day to end my pit of hell

Long before the hope was forgotten

A morning voice of consolation crow

A sweet sugared and butter bread

Place before my table of agony

To calm my taunt soul

Oh my dear soul

Joy danced before me

Again and again

Happiness jumped out of my hopeless bed

Again and again

Warmth clashed their cymbals at the door of my mouth

Again and again

Comfort strung the guitars of hope

Again and again

Peace played the classic melody in my chambers

Once again.

Another morning of gratitude

Just as the evening of sorrows elopes

Oh my dear soul

"Women don't belong in the military."

I sighed and made a show of rolling my eyes. My leg cramped so I sat down slowly and waited for the others. Sure, I was slow. I ran 3 miles in 27 minutes but I was far from failing. But Yung, on the other hand, ran the same distance in only 23 minutes.

"How are they supposed to be our equals when they can't even hold our standards?"

I heard him huff but it wasn't him who I watched. Every other male looked at everything but me. Some were even toying with the grass. Cowards. Do they think the same as he does or are they afraid to stand up for me? I hear the word simp going around to those few that do. Somehow defending a woman is still seen as a weakness. It's been over one hundred years since women could join the Marines, yet there are those that wish "for a better time." A time when women weren't in the Marines. A time when these children were not even sperm floating around.

With the test concluded, we go home to shower and eat before showing up to work an hour later.

"Hey guys wanna hear a joke?"

I don't even turn around.

"Who was the first woman to fail a hike?"

Silence.

"Opha Mae Johnson."

A few laughs echo in the shop. Opha Mae Johnson was the first woman to enlist in the Marines when her country called for it back in 1918 when World War I was ravaging Europe. Obviously the "joke" hasn't been lost on me but I've heard it before. It's Yung's favorite and he seems to say it whenever I pass by. I used to argue and debate because I thought he was reasonable but once I heard his thoughts on gay men and our one Marine that was born in Africa, I realized it was a lost cause.

"Did you really sleep with Mason?"

I turned to see Gregson had snuck up on me with a barely audible whisper. I internally rolled my eyes and externally furrowed my brow.

"It's just . . . that's what's been going around."

Of course it was. I even know who said it. I knew from bootcamp that most of these children out of high school couldn't be trusted. I was 25, but many of them weren't even the legal drinking age. I had told Shock this in private to see if it would stay with her.

It didn't.

Just then, Shock walked out of the office and gave me a small wave and I reciprocated.

Bitch.

I once really thought women would have each other's backs. But they spoke their lies in the shadows. The men ruled the roost and some women saught to gain favor by casting down one of their own.

When our work was finished and we marched home as a platoon. Part of me seethed as always. I looked around as we marched and I saw Marines - but no brotherhood.

#Marines

#femalemarines

Mama,

I am fine and I must write in a rush. There is a story I’ve wanted to tell and I’m quite sure it will be safe with you.

There is a particular woman who comes into my simple restaurant, you remember the one? Le Chateau Blue? and provides material for my other profession. The one I haven’t truly told you about for fear of what you might say. She has been in for four months now but all there is to tell about her are her romantic adventures.

She eats in such an interesting manner, I think she is a passionate lover. Of course the war has just ended, and we are slowly coming out of rationing but she makes me risk the black market to get her these delicacies and see her taste buds orgasm. Is that too inappropriate, Ma? You said I shouldn’t leave anything out.

The preparation she takes is astounding. She always dresses in her best for her simple meals, adorned with beautiful jewellery and the loveliest perfume and sometimes carries a candle that I allow her to light. She has her own reserved table now.

She is very particular, and once said in passing she doesn’t just take anyone to her sacred chamber. She means her mouth of course but she has such a beautiful affair with food that I rewrite every word, every movement as though it is with a real man. An affair she engages in with all her senses. She eyes the plate from my little counter till it is lain before her and then her eyes feast upon it before her tongue can pass a verdict on it. Looking at her, Mama, I think I can understand why some reference intimate moments with food, you know those lines; lips like honey, skin like chocolate or milk, whispering sweet nothings that float down like wine...and so on.

She turns the plate around in marvel of the splendour before her, almost as though undressing it, layer by layer...or undressing herself in anticipation of the most intimate of acts. The devouring! She makes a simple cook feel like the Queen’s chef. She savours every bite like a lingering kiss. When she has that first kiss, I mean bite, I can tell whether she will love the dalliance. I can tell my performance in the kitchen based on her first reaction. For those that have her at the first kiss, she takes her time. She slices through them, the meals of course, with such an art and grace that make anyone desire to be in her hold. That first bite awakens all desire, you can see her shiver all through. She closes her eyes, sways her head to music or words only she can hear and lets out a soft groan of pleasure. Nothing else can claim her attention when she has her love before her. She must be as gentle as she is passionate.

There are those that elicit a raised eyebrow at first taste. You can see the doubts running across her mind. But she is such a sweet woman, she doesn’t give up till she has taught the food to love itself and then she can love it genuinely too. I have asked how she prefers it, with curtains drawn or not, music playing in the background or not. She told me it depends on the meal. The environment should be conducive for both the lover and the beloved, she says. Have you ever loved anything that intimately?

When the act is done, she sits a while as though not willing the moment to end, remembering every high moment she just experienced with a lazy smile across her face. I would give anything to know her true thoughts and not the ones I make up for her in my stories.

I live for the days she asks for seconds!

She doesn’t know this but I study her so deeply and rewrite her experience as erotica for a penny a word. There it is! You can tell your neighbourhood about your wayward child now. And I don’t even know her name. I can imagine you shaking your head in disbelief but I am not going to turn down money where I can find it. I have enclosed one of my rewritings, you may blush through it I warn you, but you have asked and asked because you think you should know every detail of my life and now I have finally relented.

The city is slowly picking up and I look forward to the time order will be fully restored and fear will be a thing of the past. There is more to tell you about my life here but the lady just walked in and I need a new story. Today I’ve prepared your famous Choucroute garnie. We’ll see how well she romances this one.

Ever yours,

Paris.