The night is over and I am laid down once again. As I assumed, once again, an empty carcass, I am. Scathed by the friction of war. I am tired and unable. I do not see Riddell anywhere nearby. I assume the worst and that he is lost. Maybe to be replaced by a Schutt or Xenith. The thought saddens me but only briefly for my emotion is faulted and empty. I see nothing but only darkness. I hear nothing but only silence. My round body rests stiffly on the ground.
An ode to a helmet, what it could be.
A helmet I am, a helmet you see. Empty, scathed, scorched. I've fulfilled my duty.