A man stands silently. Wind ruffles thin and greying hair.
He thinks about the arguments, disagreements about arming, appeasement. The yelling. The elder wants to arm. The younger wants peace.
Then the first annexation. The first invasion.
Disagreement turns, becomes less vehement.
Another annexation, invasion under pretence.
The middle ground transforms to agreement, then passion, commitment.
Commitment followed by enlistment. Departures, see you soon.
The rain when the telegram arrives. Deeply regret to inform you… The tears. Sadness.
The Portland Stone monument. The name, the dates. June 6, 1944.
“I said I would see you again” spoken to empty air.
I sit staring at the blank screen, the cursor patiently blinking. “Come on” I think to myself, “this can’t be that hard. It’s just a hundred words.” I glance at my text messages. Twitter has nothing new. Instagram is caught up. Email? Nope. Yeah, I’m just procrastinating.
“I can do this. I had an idea last night.” Of course I did. I was sure that this time I would remember it by morning. And of course I didn’t. Something about a cowboy, with a horse on a spaceship maybe?
I sit staring at the blank screen, the cursor patiently blinking.
This ship hung in space, light from the local star glinting off the shinier surfaces.
Tears streamed down Pat’s face. It was finally over, for him and for Michelle.
“We’re ain’t going to make it, are we?”
An introduction by friends.
“Pre-test checklist complete.”
She slid into the driver’s seat, wincing as her shoulder brushed the leather surface. Blood from her hand smeared the shifter. She slid the key into the slot, twisted, and the engine rumbled to life.