She fell to her knees at the knock of the door.
He had fought bravely, he said, decorated in a polished uniform.
An array of metals who's shine surpassed the level of God's standards.
I'm sorry for your lost, not as sorry as I am. Not as sorry as the memories
That will never come. Not as sorry as the voice I will never hear
Again. Not as sorry as the laugh who volunteered for a
War cry. Not as sorry...as the presence who will no
Longer smother me in their warmth.
My voice explodes into a siren as I go off like a
War bomb. Shrapnel of emotions imbed into my skin as
Blood covers my hands. Screaming as I dive between trenches
And landmines. Feeling the cold of emptiness as all that is left is
The will not to die. I slip and the landmine fractures my
hearing before colliding into the polish soldier's chest.
How dare you! I scream. He was my father!
Beating upon his chest like an old war drum.
How dare you steal hearts to only be slaughtered at your mercy?!
Why does the price of freedom demand a life, a man, a father?
Why does it need an untold story that no one will ever hear!
The soldier grabs my beating hands and holds me in a
Silent embrace. He is fractured, he is broken, hero.
He told me he died on a field that used to be
Filled with poppies. That he could just see my
Father lying amongst the soft red, serene and warm.
An empty battlefield can be peaceful at times.
A silence in homage of lost stories, of lost men.
He told me of the memories he had with my father.
He told me about his laugh, his voice, his presence.
He remembers him speaking of me.
He tells me that he will remember him.
For the rest of his life he will remember him.
That it's up to me to remember him for the
Rest of my life. It's up to me to tell his story.
Tell it. Never stop telling it.
For...
*You have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story.
*A Lyric from the Musical Hamilton
YOU ARE READING
To Write or Not to Write
RandomIf a rock plops into a river... And if there is no one there to hear it. How do we knew if it hits the bottom? How do we know if it didn't throw itself back out? Or flow down the stream? Or... Does everything just hits rock bottom? Like me. ...
