Daily Flash Fiction Entries

Walk

This was a winning entry in the

15 for 15 Contest --- Closed  (18+) Do you have 15 minutes? Come in and join this contest! #994771 by Legerdemain

We were supposed to write a story to this image:

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I thought it fitting to be posted up for this Memorial Day.

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Every day, for the past twenty years, it’s been a silent ritual between them. Wide awake at the crack of dawn, they would meet in front of the old town hall, a shared smile, a tip of the hat and the walk would begin.

Crash! Bang! Boom! The silent cries of a million young lives.

Back then the roads hadn’t been this wide, the buildings hadn’t been this tall. This bustling hubbub of suburbia had been a small town of a few houses where young boys learned how to wield toy weapons pretending to be what their fathers were.

Crash! Bang! Boom! The silent cries of a million young lives.

They had been neighbors, the best of friends. All too soon, the call had come - torn out of happy homes and forced into camps to become ‘warriors’. The younger had disliked it and wailed at the injustice of it all, the elder’s calmer words of wisdom gave him the courage to go on.

Crash! Bang! Boom! The silent cries of a million young lives.

The bitter, metallic taste of blood, the stench of burning flesh. All became a part of the norm in the chaos they had been forced to witness. In the front lines, their lives meant nothing, their enemies quick to dispose of them. Friends were lost in a haze of blue smoke and yellow flames – forever condemned to the depths of hell for their sins.

Crash! Bang! Boom! The silent cries of a million young lives.

They were returned as heroes although the scars ran deep. They can still remember the ticker tape parades, the kisses of loved ones, the accolades, and the praise! They were freedom fighters and had brought peace to the world. But, honestly, where was the peace in their hearts?

Crash! Bang! Boom! The silent cries of a million young lives.

Together they walk down the path, a silent ritual that needs no words. They are called veterans now. How ironic you see. They stand within the mist and stare at the row of crosses, an endless sea of white – a harsh reminder of what had been lost for peace to reign. They are the lucky ones. They know that much.

Crash! Bang! Boom! The silent cries of a million young lives.

And for their comrades, who are only remembered by the country once every year, (oh, what a grave injustice) they can only pay their homage in this simple way, and hope that one day, those silent anguished cries of a million young soldiers would finally make sweet music in heaven.

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