Wounded Soldier – 148 words
They talk of war as if it’s a grand celebration, a joyous undertaking, the ultimate adventure. Have they forgotten the mangled limbs of their fathers? The grieving tear-stricken faces of their mothers? Do they not realize many among them will not return?
Given enough time anyone can forget anything. It is the blessing and the curse of our human existence.
I can’t forget. Can’t forget the hungry mouths at home. My own mother lost in a haze of bitterness, loss, and opium. There is no one but me to carry the flag, no one but me to beat the drum. And so I toil here, with these violence-hungry men and their groping hands and leering faces. I smile and flirt with deadened eyes as I carry one more round, one more round. Just one more round.
Wars are fought on more than one kind of front.
This week’s challenge within our 150 word limit (+/-10) was to include something related to war. Let me know what you think of my piece – and I hope you’ll hop on over to Flash Friday Fiction to read the other entries, and perhaps post one of your own!