The Last Battle

The Enemy appeared one morning in the early light of dawn.

Their planes, wraith like and made out of shadow materialized in the skies and when their jets roared they were like the screams and wails of a thousand souls.

Their armies rose up out of the earth, throwing off tattered burial shrouds. Bullets passed through their spectral forms and though our bombs blew zombie bodies limb from limb the body parts, crawling and snaking across the ground dragged themselves back together, determined to march on.

Their Navy was made of sunken ship wrecks with ghostly crews and seaweed entangled skeletons  clutching rusted cutlasses boarded our battle ships, crawling out of the sea.

In the end we had to surrender. We had to. There was just no way of fighting them and there were so many.

Then we heard their message, speaking through crackling static across the airwaves; coming from the mouths of pale, ghostly figures on TV screens and computer monitors.

WE  AR   GH  STS. 

TH   HOSTS  OF TH  ME  AN  WO  EN   A D   HILDRE

WH   DI  D  WH  N   THE  B   MBS  FELL

W  O  W  RE   CA   GHT   IN  TH   CR SSF  RE

TH  INN  CENT  V CT  MS  OF  W  R

OU    B   DIES   A  E     BUR   ED   U  DERGR  UND

OU   S  ULS  A E  IN   D  RKNES

H  LP US 

HE P    S  PL  ASE

ST  P  YO  R   VIOLE   CE

ST  P  Y  UR  W  R