War Zone



There is a stretch of land. You know this stretch of land. You have seen this stretch of land many times. You are looking at it now. It is on the side of a hill; the angle is steep meaning that each step you take as you push forward requires considerable effort as the unceasing force of gravity tries to pull you back down the hill. This stretch of land is territory which is churned up mud, thick and cloying mud which sucks at you, intent on grinding your advance to a halt. You know you need to get across this stretch of land however and you summon up your strength, gird your loins and set off.

The wire set across this stretch of land snags at your clothing, the barbed comments set along this coiled and bundled piece of wire rip into your clothing and you wince as one pierces your skin. You try to lift your leg over this wire as you feel your standing foot sinking into the mud. You hear the rat-a-tat-tat of the vicious volley of bilious bullets which are being shot in your direction. The malice machine gun spewing forth lies and insults which pepper the ground around you, whistling past your head and spraying all around in a scattergun approach. You are used to this but it does not make it any easier because you know this machine gun seems to have a limitless supply of those bullets. In order to avoid being hit you hurl yourself forward, feeling another barb from the wire scratch you through your clothing as you hit the ground with a hard slap. The wind is knocked from your lungs as you are sprawled in the mud, the machine gun still spewing forth its angry accusations. You hear the whistle of some incoming ordnance, perhaps one of those conversational hand-grenades that we love to lob at you from different angles. You cannot see it but you know that it is coming and you clamp your tin hat down on your head, hoping it misses as you try to sink into the mud to evade injury. There is a boom to your right and you brace yourself but the savage shrapnel of untruths misses you this time. You scramble up, cold and damp from the mud that now clings to you, eyes darting left and right in the fashion to which you have become accustomed. Your senses are in overdrive as your hypervigilance increases. You don’t know how long you can keep this up as you look out for a sniper on the ridge who might pick you off with a well-placed shot from his rifle of random repercussions. Your ears strain listening for the sound of another hateful hand-grenade or the caustic chatter of the malevolent machine gun. There is a roaring in your ears. Is it the sound of the blood racing around your body, driven by your thundering heart or is it the bellow of your aggressor? It has become so difficult to discern these days.

You race forward adopting your customary zig zag in order to avoid the attempts to cut you down. You charge, head down, legs pounding the mud, each step seeming to take longer and longer as you feel you are moving in slow motion. The air is alive with the smell of cordite, venom and vitriol. There is a billowing sound off to your right and instinctively you hurl yourself to the ground again, smashing into the mud as you feel the heat overhead as a flaming cloud of fury burns, churning and billowing from the flamethrower wielded by your aggressor. The air is super-heated and you can feel the heat across your neck and back as stay down. You cannot remain here for long though as you know you will be a sitting target for the mortar which will rain down its brutal bombs upon you. You start to crawl, the heat still gripping the air, the bullets pinging and whizzing past you, plopping into the mud as you crawl, breath ragged, lungs burning. You haven’t noticed how much you are shaking since you are too engaged seeking to avoid the volleys being hurled towards you.

The heat has gone and you scramble to your feet as you hear the ack-ack-ack of a larger weapon discharging its abusive ammunition towards you. You realise that there are three of these pieces of onerous ordnance as the enemy is triangulating you in an attempt to bring you down. You head to the left and back to the right as you wonder where your allies are, where have they gone? You can dimly remember that there were others once upon a time who supported you and helped you up this slope, encouraging you and urging you on but their voices have gone. One by one the enemy has picked them off leaving you isolated and alone.

This slope that now threatens to halt you advance was once a beautiful hillside adorned with verdant grass which swayed in the warm, gentle breeze. Flowers festooned it beneath a blazing golden sun as you ran down the slope each day with ease and in such a care-free manner. Your recollection of that time vanishes when you hear the rumbling noise and see the barrel of a tank coming into view. You know what is coming from this terror tank, a salvo of scathing shells, designed to send you flying through the air, dizzy and disorientated. The barrel is swinging around as your tormentor takes aim and with considerable effort you continue your advance. It feels like you are running through hell. The noise, the sudden explosions of furious fire and blinding light against the grim grey sky, the booms, the thuds, the sharp ping of bullets, the whump of the negative energy from bombs, shells and grenades being absorbed by the mud. You are under attack from all sides as you pelt forward and hurdle another set of barbed comments, avoiding being caught on them. You land and see ahead the ridge which signifies the end of this stretch of land. The end of the slope. You just need to reach there and you will be shielded from this assault, out of range and able surely then to rest and muster your strength. You notice for the first time that your teeth are chattering through fear, almost mimicking the chatter of the machine gun nests which are blazing their poison-tipped bullets towards you. The earth groans in protest as a line of bullets slaps into the earth and you take this as your cue to go forward again. You hear the throb of aircraft engine as a pain plane draws near ready to drop some incendiary device on you to have you burn or a fearsome bomb to blast you into smithereens with the force of its vitriol. Your breath is ragged and you can feel your legs shaking, the toll of this advance now exacting itself on your body which has endured so much. Five more steps and then surely you will have reached safety. The roar of battle reaches a crescendo, malicious metal rending the air apart as the aircraft draws closer, the tank twists, the barrel trying to keep pace with you. Four steps. The bullets whizz and another hand grenade explodes behind you. Three steps. There is the whine of a falling bomb which supersedes all the other clamour of battle. Two steps. Your heart is going to explode. One step. Everything is now being launched against you to stop you getting to the ridge. A massive explosion erupts behind you, furious and fearsome as you are hurled through the air, over the ridge and mud-smeared, ragged, bleeding and battered you crash to the ground and roll over, once, twice and a third time.

The world eventually stops wheeling about you. The spinning recedes and the frenzied sounds of battle have become muffled and distant. You hear your own heart still pounding, the sound of your heavy breathing as you mentally check yourself and realise you are intact. Just.

You open your eyes and turn to see where it is you have arrived and that is providing you with some kind of respite. You are in a ditch or perhaps a trench and you can see nothing but two earthen walls either side of you providing you with protection. You have made it. You got through the war zone. You crossed that stretch of land and succeeded. Elation soars through you as you tentatively sit up. Over the ridge to your right is where you have just come from, but what lies to the left. Carefully you peek over the edge of the trench.

There is a slope ahead of you. A stretch of land. You know this stretch of land. You know it well. It is churned mud with machine gun nests lining the sides of the slope as this steep section of land leads up to a ridge.

Yes, you know this stretch of land.

25 thoughts on “War Zone

  1. alissa says:

    omg so beautifully written. If I had an imagery for what my inner experience has been, this would be it. amazing.

  2. Brandi says:

    The symbolism & manner of which this is told is spot on. That is exactly what it feels like. Regardless of how hard you try to avoid the conflict, the cycle continues with or without you. We are interchangeable to any Narcissist, and to think otherwise is foolish. But even armed with such knowledge we stay on the hill with the narcissist waiting for the next inevitable ambush, which defies all human survival instinct.

  3. Carole Raison says:

    Your Emptiness,
    War zone is the crucible for your deared piece of DNA. Army screens out the ones testing positive on the narcissit/psychopath spectrum to position them in front at battle ground as human shields for their cold blood and indefference. During cold war they were sorted out to permit a team of recovery after an atomic desaster. Your piece of DNA has a recurrent history of experiencing the above horrors over and over again. Wouldont it be for that sole purpose your nasty selfish gene would have been crushed as irrelevant to human way of life. So we tolerate you as a necessary ill.

    1. HG Tudor says:

      Hello Carole, of course what you have to keep in mind is that the ones sending the Lessers to the battlefront are the greater of our kind. Look through history at the leaders, warmongers, dictators, forgers of empires and look at more recent leaders and politicians and who do you think is giving the orders and orchestrating it all. Empaths? Normals? No. Our kind.

      1. NarcAngel says:


        Great point about the management of Government and/of War. Decisions pared of emotion are required, and while we may attack the policies and criticize those at the helm, we should be appreciative of their ability to recognize patterns, sort the information, and respond as they do in time of crisis. Of course as ever they need to be monitored so that it does not result in total hegemonic control which becomes more desirable with that level of power and has been evidenced in some cases. Well…. In the non narcs view anyway lol.

      2. Mona says:

        Hallo Carole, hello HG, you both forget to mention, that the military stopped that project, because the psychopath and the narcissists failed their job. And HG, if destruction is the aim, I agree with you. All the leaders that you mention, caused huge destruction all over the world. And they will do it again and again and again, promising welfare, prosperity and peace to all of us empath. The aim is still destruction.

  4. A bird writhing in pain would give me zero fuel. An empath weeping next to me over said bird would provide the fuel. That stated, I have better things to do than crush butterflies and slaughter sparrows. There are those of our kind, those of less sophistication who would engage in such behaviour more readily. I aim for the maximum return on my investment.

    HG You say there are those of your kind who would engage in such behaviour more readily- in saying that, would you consider that these people are narcissists or would they be considered to be killers?

    HG That bird writhing in pain, may be symbolic of any of a number of women who have been writhing in pain or left like a dying bird writhing in pain. Would you get fuel knowing you were the only one present to help that woman in a medical emergency, and deny it because it was in keeping with the devaluation period?

    Sparrows are becoming endangered, the U.K. no exception. Who mentioned sparrows? SC mentioned birds, not any particular species 😀

    1. HG Tudor says:

      I consider them to be narcissists. They may have the potential to take human life.

      Yes I would gain fuel in the scenario you describe. I may also gain fuel by helping. It depends which I see as the one which will serve me best.

      I mentioned the sparrow. I was snacking on a toasted one as I wrote, that is why sparrow enter my sphere of influence.

      1. HG You will be happy to know that the willow tits and willow warblers are also in rapid decline- what have you been up to these days with the tits and warblers, naughty naughty but the butterflies and dragonflies are doing okay, so try and get a balance going huh, if they should make their way into your sphere of influence. Put the seven vertically challenged men to work with their butterfly nets or grab some fishnet stockings off tits or warbles and a coat hanger and your in business! Lucrative and exotic, think about the $$$ I am sure that China could be sold on the idea! Oh no you may have to check out that they have not used dragonflies and butterflies in chinese medicine, or as an aphrodisiac first- lets give the bears a break huh, to much bile going around!

      2. Up the garden narcissist’ HG is where you will find the butterflies and dragonflies. 🦋🦋🦋🌷🌼🌹🌸🌺

  5. Amanda says:

    Its absolutely incredible to me how well you capture exactly how the victim feels. Is that because that is how you feel inside, HG?
    I asked him once why he does it, he said ” Because I want you to feel how I feel”

    1. HG Tudor says:

      Hi Amanda, no, it is because I listen to what I am told by the many victims I interact with and moreover I am able to apply my mind to contemplating the effect of my machinations on others and thus write in this creative manner. Thank you for your kind compliment.

  6. My ex is a passive mid ranger. I did not have to endure such a war zone, luckily. His abuse consisted of cancelling and re-scheduling, despite my excitement to see him. But when we do meet, we would cuddle and talk for 2-3 hours. He was so affectionate. After seeing me, however, he would not call for a few days, which left me confused and sad at the time. Now i understand that it was his fear of intimacy at play.

    1. Matilda says:

      Exactly, Ptsdafternarcabuse. They cannot bear that someone is getting too close for too long… might be the mere physical sensation of being touched and held that reminds them of past abuse and feelings of helplessness they do not want to relive… might be a fear that they reveal too much of themselves with prolonged touch, that their façade would crumble and we would get a glimpse of the truth. And that is probably what would happen.

  7. NarcAngel says:

    Yes. And then you make breakfast and go to school.

  8. Stringbean Jean says:

    This is great! Here’s what happened, for me. I think it’s NLP technique, not sure, I part read a Bandler book recently.
    So, shuffle play on device selected ‘when I was a boy’ (Biel Ballester Trio) a spanish guitar piece which immediately changed the mood of the story. Characters changed into cartoons, Road Runner and Wile e Coyote, ammuntion turned into custard and bubbles. Did I just do a ‘reframe’?
    ‘Meep meep’
    Joking aside, I enjoy these stories and this blog. Ive done a lot of healing and it wasn’t easy but for people suffering rather than think of 10 negative things about NPD and how you’ve been screwed over, say 10 positive things about yourself. Dig deep, it’s there. Say them again. And again. One more time… And repeat 🙂

  9. Laurie says:

    Yes, welcome to the home I grew up in.

  10. Still Confused says:

    This is not done solely for survival of “your kind” HG. In this story, in the way it is written, is a perverse enjoyment. Do you hunt small defenseless animals HG? Do you shoot birds from the sky, crush butterflies and choke kittens? Would you get the same immense pleasure from those things? In this story, in the way it is written, I can actually FEEL your excitement grow. Very disturbing. Very disturbed. Your kind are very disturbed…and evil.

    1. HG Tudor says:

      Do you think I do those things SC?

      1. Still Confused says:

        That was my question to you. Of course you did not give me a straight yes or no answer. Only you know if you do these things HG. The “fuel” you would get from watching a bird writhing in pain and fear would not be much different than what you have admitted to. Not necessarily you you…but…you/your kind.

        1. HG Tudor says:

          A bird writhing in pain would give me zero fuel. An empath weeping next to me over said bird would provide the fuel. That stated, I have better things to do than crush butterflies and slaughter sparrows. There are those of our kind, those of less sophistication who would engage in such behaviour more readily. I aim for the maximum return on my investment.

          1. Still Confused says:

            Ah. Levels of destruction. I think I’m beginning to understand a little more.

          2. HG Tudor says:

            Indeed SC. There are a couple of pieces in the pipeline which deal with destruction – people, inanimate objects and animals – of course to us they are all classified as objects but those forthcoming articles will accord with what you have suggested and offer some additional insight which I think you will find interesting.

          3. Still Confused says:

            Heartbreaking… I wish I was magic…

      2. Still Confused says:

        Actually HG, I think you may be feeling just a tiny bit of compassion. You have given this too much thought not to have felt. Extremely well written. This actually made my skin crawl and brought a tear to my eye…for you and for us.

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