By Jeffrey A. Paolano
Spurred, the pony bolts the hillock, from whence Rawon surveys the grazing herd ranged across the green swath. The mountains beyond encapsulate the bucolic majesty.
A sharp pain flashes through Rawon’s left arm. The jolt in his chest is like an imagined lightning strike. The shock tosses him from his seat.
Rawon’s head strikes a rock, cancelling his consciousness.
When he awakens, Rawon feels around in his blood-soaked hair.
In futile desperation, he dredges for images of his wife, children, and grand-children.
Rawon’s eyes see only the bright red light he last saw sixty-four years past when shrapnel punctured his breast.
Perfect example of “What goes around comes around.” Give this one two thumbs up!