Sunday, August 19, 2012


Like wraiths they would come and go, unseen and unchallenged, raining destruction down upon him and his comrades. Moaning, he heard the whistle of the first incoming rounds.

Damned mortars! He hated them. All you could do was hunker your ass down and hope Charlie didn’t drop one right on you. He curled into a ball whimpering softly, praying no one heard the sounds of his fear.

As he had on every 4th of July since 1973, he lay weeping in his cardboard “bunker”, his mind and his sanity forever left behind in a war that nobody wanted to remember.

This story was written for BlogFlash2012 Day 19: Fireworks

1 comment:

  1. Really well written.Definitely one of my favourite shorts so far.