The Grunt
He woke up one morning.
He was just average.
He woke up and went to work just as he did every day, and every day after that.
He was just a man that did what he was told to do. A grunt. A drone. A worker. Some would call him 'Fodder.'
He may of had a name. Was it James? Frank? Joe? Bob? Rich? I'm not sure if he even knows anymore.
But he did what he had to do. He doesn't care. He just wants to do what he is good at. And that is following orders.
It didn't matter where he worked. It could be mopping up irradiated water next to a cracked nuclear reactor or sweeping up trash inside of a rundown motel. He just does as he is told. That is the one thing that defines him as unique…being as ingrained with his work as the common ant.
That's not to say that he doesn't aspire to become greater. He works his hardest, doing anything to be sure that he will never fall behind.
But that doesn't make him great.
He falls.
Like all the others he falls.
He will keep charging, but deep down, he knows he will fall.
He charges without fear, even with is brethren slaughtered in front him.
That doesn't change the battle however.
That doesn't mean he is without fear.
Sadly, he does know fear, just like any other man. But he only recognizes it once Death is staring him in the face in the form of a gun or a knife.
But charge on he does. Even after hesitating at first glance of his opponent.
He will charge because 'They' told him to do so.
He will charge because he wants to do so.
He will die, even if he doesn't know that it will be so.
But never underestimate the grunt, for they are many.
It doesn't take much to sway a grunt.
If that is all you learn from a grunt, then that is all you need to know. A grunt will do anything. Remember that. A grunt will do everything.