PANIC in DC Their colorful banners are left limp in the now breeze-less air; their soldiers disheartened and weary. The leaders continuously attempt to rally their hoards, claiming they can still drive a wedge up the middle and take the new general with 'very little effort' they say. Repeating incessantly, 'the enemy is weak' they try to raise their stature; attempt to convince the confused soldiers that they have the high ground. Only half listening to the repeated ramble, their minions look out beyond their leaders; peer into the distance at the gleeing bayonets of the opposition. They never saw so many; it seems the hills are literally on fire. They were told there were few, and that they were ragged and untrained. Now real fear floods over their ranks like ocean waters over coastal sand. The plan that they were told countless times and held as truth is now left wanting. Can they still trust their Marshalls? Though they now sweat, it is not from any heat. Their blood runs cold as trumpets sound in the distance; feeling the earth begin to rumble as if hundreds of thousands begin to march towards their tepid lines. There is true PANIC in DC.