Micro fiction


1 minute read

My first memory is feeling safe as my mom carried me in the corridors singing her lullaby. It was hard to get me to sleep as a baby; even though I was quiet, my eyes were always wide open when she passed in front of the small mirror in the bathroom.

I remember running around the school playground with my friends when I was ten, proud to wear my first uniform as the older boys climbed into the airplanes. They were off to war and we envied them. The sound of the engines flying over the Academy used to make us stand up straight and salute them and wonder what untold glories awaited us.

But now all I hear is the crashing of the waves. The muffled shouts and explosions along the beachfront. The dimming lights and the fading sounds; the dead and the dying all around me. My mom’s lullaby as the cold water wraps itself around my limbs.

She cries inside the house. A thousand miles away, the rainfall melts our bodies of sand.

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