Work Text:
By the time that I stopped counting, I was at 173
But by then I’d run out of spaces to count the things I’ve seen
And for every single digit that I’d marked along my door
I always knew that for each one there were really countless more.
People who would worry, people who would fret
And children who would lie awake asking if daddy had come home yet.
They told me not to worry, to do my job and smile
Because as long as you don’t think about it, it goes away for a while.
Once upon a time I thought I could never get used to this
And yet after so many years, all those faces I’ve dismissed.
I’ve forgotten what they look like, forced them deep into my brain
So as long as I’m just really careful, I won’t see their faces again.
Their faces of pain and anguish, unable to vocalize that they hurt,
But I could see that in their eyes they knew, just a few days and they’ll be dirt.
It will all be over soon, I’d say, as I pulled back the string back on my bow,
I’d line the arrow as best I could and then let the arrow go.
And that would be the end of them, the end of them and me,
Because by the time that I stopped counting, I was at 173.