I no longer notice the days ending. A slow, grey march...
I do not guard a fortress or a pass - I guard a box.
My patrols mean nothing; there is nothing to see.
I'm told to die for a secret I do not know.
The general's words fade in the silence.
I wait - not for battle, but for something, anything, to give this absurd vigil a shape.
The waiting itself is the enemy now, and I fear it will devour me before any order ever comes.