the ones who went - a poem about S.T.A.L.K.E.R

i didn’t go with them.
when they pushed toward limansk,
when the sky cracked open above the sarcophagus,
i stayed.
not because i was afraid.
i just thought they’d win.
we were clear sky.
we were supposed to win.

i told myself there’d be work to do after.
someone had to hold the ground, right?
someone had to carry the data, the mission,
all that quiet, careful truth.

but they didn’t come back.
no one did.
and now the antennas are silent.
the base is a crater of burnt-out dreams.
and me.
i’m still here.
not part of anything.
not even sure i ever was.

i don’t wear the patch.
not anymore.
it feels like wearing the face of a stranger.
and if anyone asks,
i just say i scavenge alone.

people like to romanticize the ones who died.
call them heroes, pioneers.
but the ones who stayed behind,
we rot slowly.
we aren’t remembered.
we just go on, day after day,
knowing the only thing we ever did
was survive something we should’ve died for.

i walk the zone because i can’t go back.
there’s nothing for me outside of the zone.
a job? a life?
i left that behind with the first step past the cordon.

and no,
i don’t want to die.
but i don’t want to keep going, either.
i just do.

some nights, i dream of the old search tower.
before the fire.
before the silence.
someone tuning dials, laughing.
someone still believing.

i wake up,
and there’s nothing.
just wind,
and the distant scream of a pseudodog.

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i made this when i played S.T.A.L.K.E.R Clear Sky.