I was only nine years old I loved Shek so much, I owned all the hats and flags I pray to Shek every night, thanking him for the defeat of Japan I have been given "Shek is love", I say, "Shek is life" My dad hears me and calls me a fascist He is obviously jealous of my devotion to Shek I called him a maoist He slaps me and sends me to my room I am crying now, because my face hurts I go into my bed and it is very cold I feel a warmth moving towards me I fell something touch me It's Shek I am so happy He whispers into my ear, "Japanese are a disease of the skin, communists are a disease of the heart." He grabs me with his powerful Kuomintang hands and puts me on my hands and knees I'm ready I spread my overstretched supply lines for Shek He penetrates my front lines It hurts so much, but I do it for Shek I can feel my manpower tearing as my eyes start to water I push against his force I want to please Shek He roars a mighty roar as he fills my occupied areas with his love My dad walks in Shek looks him deep in the eyes and says, " War is not only a matter of equipment, artillery, group troops or air force; it is largely a matter of spirit, or morale." Shek amphibiously retreats to Taipei Shek is love, Shek is life.