Cannon fire was their rooster's caw that morning. The shells exploded among the camps and left row upon row of burning blood-soaked tents. Hundreds of half-dressed soldiers scurried away from the eviscerating plumes of smoke and steel. The percussions of the bombardment were subtly felt by the diligent Captain Charles Magnus in another camp. He confirmed the massacre through the lens of his battlefield glasses and hurried off to inform Marshal Anosognosia. Charles hadn't had much face to face with contact with the highly revered military hero, and he relished the chance to be the one at his side in so perilous a moment. There was no better career booster than association with the Anosognosia name. Charles’s diligence could sometimes devolve into simple impulsivity. He brushed past the security detail and burst into the old man’s tent. “Sir forgive me bu-” The Captain's words lodged in his throat. The eighty-six-year-old nationally renowned the illustrious Marshal Osca
This is a collection of anecdotes from the fringes of reality, a tapestry stitched together from our dreams as well as our nightmares, from the fears that haunt the collective imagination. These are the symptoms of the sickness known as the human condition.