I’m continuing to dig out the flash pieces I’ve submitted for Flash! Friday – here’s another one I’m rather proud of. I’ve never served in the military, but I was the oddball child (of 4) who didn’t. My family is steeped in military service.
I can only imagine what it must be like to have to serve as the might of this nation – a position that is equally vilified and revered – or to take another life in the execution of that service – but the voices certainly have their take on it.
With Memorial Day looming on the calendar – this is a small tribute to what some people have to go through after having offered their bodies and souls for the good of their country.
The Chains of a POW
Innocent eggs and bacon sizzle merrily in their pan.
The chatter of machine guns
forcing their deadly payload
into unsuspecting human flesh.
Fruits, ice and yogurt whipped to a cold, sweet froth in the whining blender.
The howl of the air-raid sirens
bouncing off the barricades
singing the song of death’s guarantee.
Bread warming, drying, golden brown in the toaster that ticks, ticks, ticks…
Screaming. Endless screaming. My throat is sore, my head aches – but the scream will not stop pouring from my lungs. The flashback knifes into my brain, no less real, no less sharp or shiny than the cutting utensil on the countertop before me.
Blood – copper-tinged red runoff from the steak stains the white marble cutting board.
So. Much. Blood.
An ocean of brutally spilled life, thwarted promise, foiled dreams. I’m overwhelmed by the fluid – drowning in an endless typhoon of death.
He stands again, firm and solid in my mind’s eye, atop the wooden battlements, armament cradled lovingly in the crook of his arm. Cold eyes, cold face, determined to end my screaming by slamming the butt of his rifle across my fragile nose.
They say you have to let the war go – but it refuses to loosen its grip.