We wait for the call.
The song of the sirens wail alerting all to our approach.
The flashing and throbbing of the red and white lights signaling that there is trouble ahead.
Racing along streets to help our fellow man.
We know not your color, your religious beliefs, your sexual orientation, and nor do we care.
We are there to be that line in the sand between the living and the dead.
To face the reaper of souls in a constant battle as warriors that you will not remember.
Sometimes we are the victors and other times we ask what could we have done differently.
We hold the ghosts of those we have lost heavy on our backs, and they will never leave.
We sometimes begin to sink to our own deadly depths, brought there by our own hands, during the darkest hole of depression.
We will hold all the horrors that we see and hear deep within so that others will not have to face those demons.
We are the red line in the sand, we are the warriors of the roads who go into a battle for life and death on a daily basis, who shall remain nameles.
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