I write this on a piece of cardboard. Maybe someone will see it, but knowing the caos and destruction that has fallen upon the town around me, probably not.
I am a mercinary, or rather, a man who offers my services to those who can pay, and, sometimes to those who need them. I used to have a hideaway in the forest that bordered this town, that is why I am here. But as there is nothing left of the town and nothing left of the forest. I doupt there would be anything left of that place.
But that is a thought for another time.
Right now I am one of the men gaurding the makeshift tents that Medicine Sans Frontier and others have set up in an attempt to give these lost souls medical care, food and a roof, of sorts. I am here trying to save the lives of children and mothers. But I do not have the skills to heal an infected wound or clean bad water. So I help in my little way.
It is hard to believe. This place used to be a jewel. People used to came from far and wide just to visit. The country was proud of it.
Now it doesn't exsist.
I sit, with what is left of a proud city's population behind me. And what was once the streets of that city in front of me. The dead and the rubble are intermingled. But no-one dare clean up. For fear of what they will find, a friend? A relative? A son or mother or father?
I write this because I know that this moment will not last. Those desperate for food will swarm upon this place. And those wanting to control what assets that are left willl try to take this place.
And I? I will have to keep the desperate ones in order. I will have to keep those that want to control at bay. But what I have to work with is nothing better than the people behind me.
Enough of this. I must prepare; for tomorrow I may be at war, or trampled under the desperate.