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sofa = couch
❗lowercase intended❗
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my ears burned as i braced myself and clasped my hands over my head as shouts filled the air. i crouched into a roll and pressed myself up against the sand-filled sacks that lined the trench i was in.
the images of women choking on their own blood as they lay dead on the fields with their innards splattered around them plagued my mind, cries of agony floating up into the smoke-clouded air.
with my eyes squeezed shut i let out a yell at the shriek of a whistle bomb hailing from the sky as i awaited for the impact to come. clumps of dirt rained down onto my helmet (which was already covered in small craters from direct bullets, ricochet and shrapnel). despite being a long ways away from the explosion some of the clumped dirt made its way down my collar, embedding itself into my hair and nails.
"if you make it out alive, i'd recommend having that baby, like today."
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i fell into a roll and got on my knees, pushing myself against the soft but firm side of the sofa, keeping as quiet as i could, hands formed to make a makeshift gun.
gurgles and squeals filled the room as the almost inaudible sound of padding trickled into the air, with brief intervals every so often in which i would look over and analyse this pint-sized troop's movements.
the padding got closer and closer, until i found the right opportunity to jump out (which is quite difficult to do whilst kneeling) and sweep the little being into my arms, laughing at the the confusion on his face that soon faded into a beaming grin of delight once he had recognised my face.
another slightly bigger force came into the room, barreling towards my legs, attempting to knock me over as i pretended to fall, landing on my knees.
i couldn't even register the cardboard sword before it (very gently) 'bonked me on the head, looking as dangerous as the one who was wielding it, which was rather endearing and amusing
i soothingly rubbed circles into the baby's back and held the toddler to my chest, my head resting on hers as i lightly drifted into memories of a distant land and the smell of mud, blood and everything in between which soon dissipated into the smell of burning toast...
toast? what toast? i don't remember there being toast on the fields-
"mum the toast's burning!"
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YOU ARE READING
parenthood imagines
Short StoryA collection of scenarios and short stories about parenthood:p Happy reading♡
