I come from a warring family. My son in Afghanistan, my father in the Far East in 1940, and my grandfather in the trenches. My father never spoke of the war; silence reigned. My grandfather never referred to the ‘Great War’; there was always another adjective in between, expletives I didn’t understand as a child. The old man was considered odd, shell-shocked, but I loved sitting on his knee, sniffing and staring as he managed to chew mints and puff a pipe in the same breath.
I wear a Poppy in his honour because it is easier than remembering my son.
This is one of those stories where the background of the MC pulls out the power of the last sentence. Well done!
I agree with Pamela. The ending punched me in the gut and I gasped aloud. Excellent.
Terrific!
When you chose the word ‘warring’ I knew this one was going to take me by surprise somehow – and it did! Great job!
Powerful.
Okay. I cried. I too am from a warring family and ending is just too much. Congratulations!
Thank you!