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TITLE (EDIT)
Sentiment Of Sorrow |
DESCRIPTION
I wrote this after watching a history channel series abour the civil war. It wasn't the blood and bodies i noticed so much as the look of weariness on the soldiers faces.
[590 words] |
TITLE KEYWORD
Action |
AUTHOR
Beau Hefley |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
i am 42, single and live in New Mexico
[July 2011] |
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL ADDRESS
beau47630@hotmail.com |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (6)
Illusions (Poetry) This is a poem that describes not the life that we see, but the one that we don't. [115 words] [Teenage]
In My Dreams (Short Stories) this story hit close to home and I'm not ashamed to admit that I got teary eyed. Please feel free to comment on it or any of my writings, I would really like to get your feedback. you can fill out th... [1,206 words] [Relationships]
Judgement (Poetry) being single, a friend talked me into joining an online dating site. As i browsed through the descriptions, indiscrminately choosing to search further or completely ignore people based upon looks alon... [165 words] [Motivational]
The Moonlight (Short Stories) I wrote this while sitting on a beach in Alabama. [481 words] [Fantasy]
The Unspoken (Short Stories) A story for anyone who has ever been in love. Please feel free to e-mail me at beau47630@hotmail.com with any comments about any of my stories or poems. [1,046 words] [Romance]
Yesterday's King (Short Stories) How often do we sit back and just thank God for the people and things that we have in our life? Maybe we should. [1,259 words] [Literary Fiction]
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Sentiment Of Sorrow
Beau Hefley
The flower
A single flower rises from the cold, clammy muck, its delicate petals reaching for the warmth of the sun. All around it lay the broken and mangled bodies of men, some in blue, and others in grey, mute testimony to the folly of war.
Their youthful faces are contorted by the horror that they felt in their last moments on this earth and my heart grows heavy at the sight of them.
We are told to hate them because their beliefs differ from ours and in the heat of combat, it is easy to do so, but when the guns have finally been silenced and the only sound that remains is the stillness of death, then and only then do you realize that lying before you is not some monster bent on destroying the world that you know, but someone’s father or son.
I feel my sanity start to slip then and I quickly bring all my focus to bear on the flower that rises before me. Its petals, blowing gently in the breeze are yellow around the edges with stems of dark green and a round spot of blood red in the center that somehow seems fitting for this place and this day. It knows no hate or prejudice, no pain or sorrow; it exists simply for the sake of existing. It is beautiful and I long for its carefree way of life.
“Lock and Load”, I hear the command shouted along the ranks and feel once more the sour taste of bile rising in my throat. They will come through the trees again very soon, grey clad wraiths screaming insults with hate in their eyes and blood in their hearts and once more, the senseless extermination will resume.
I hear the angry whine of bullets even before I hear the shouts and instinctively raise my rifle, my trained eye searching for the culprits. I spot a boy, probably no older than twenty coming towards me, his raven hair flying out behind him, a look of determination and fear vying for dominance on his face and am struck by how much he looks like my son. He runs towards me, awkwardly trying to load at the same time and I know that I can drop him any time I choose.
Once more instinct takes over and I raise my rifle, aiming carefully down the sight. I calm my breathing and gently begin to take up slack on the trigger, and freeze. Once I believed in this war and what we fought for, but that was many years and many bodies ago and I am not the naive boy that I was then.
Sighing heavily, I drop my rifle at my feet and sit down in the bloody mess that surrounds me. Taking my eyes off the boy, I look over at the flower standing so stalwart beside me and smile, “it truly is beautiful”, I think to myself.
From the corner of my eye I see the boy drawing nearer, only now he has been joined by friends and each has that same look of hungry determination. I sigh heavily once more and close my eyes. I am tired, bone weary and it feels good to rest. Soon, I will be as free as the blessed petals that bloom before me.
I hear their labored breathing as they rush foreword to end my long suffering and I bend down to breathe the scent of the flower into my soul. “Free”, I whisper softly, and then all goes d
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2011 Beau Hefley |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
July 2011 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1914
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