To my left, above the horizon, an army of heads appear, stretched out for a mile, bouncing in unison. They come from some far off land, somewhere I may never visit. They wear red helmets, and carry large guns. I can hear their feet on the ground now, trampling any obstacle in their path. They carry a red flag, proclaiming their queen.

On my right, just as far, marches another army. Their discipline, their intensity, their ferocity parallels that of the first army. They carry swords, but march quickly and softly infront of large cannons. They carry a green flag, proclaiming their queen.

These two armies will quickly converge, right where I am standing. In the amount of time it takes them to get here, I can not escape the width of their ranks.

A bang, and a cloud of smoke, followed by two armies yelling their war cries. The sound is inescapable, they come from all around now. Explosions to my left, bullets creasing the air all around, exlposions to my right. Dieing all around.

Surely these armies will dwindle themselves. Surely many lives are lost, and the war will wage on beyond this battle.

The question remains, which queen's troops will persevere? How long will I stand, unwaivered, unharmed, unscathed, waiting for a victor?

Surely there must be a victor.