The Arms Of RomeI met Ed when I joined the Marines for the first time. Her name is Jessica Edwin, but in the Marines she was Corporal Edwin, or Ed. It stuck. She was tough and pretty, smart, driven, and two years older than me. I was nineteen and foolish. Somehow it worked.The Arms Of Rome6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
We got married when we found out she was pregnant. My parents were very nasty about it. They felt I'd somehow taken advantage of her. Good as raped her. Her parents were wonderful. They hosted the wedding, Ed and I wore our dress blues, and took an oath that meant even more than the one we swore to our nation.
Tiger was born just a few months after that. Ed's four year contract was finished, so she found us a little house near the base. She found a job, and she raised Tiger, almost by herself, while I ran PT, stood firewatch, crawled the obstacle courses, fired my rifle, shipped out on West Pac, and ca
Six Word Story Catchup: 11-20Week 11: ChiropractorSix Word Story Catchup: 11-204 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Angry little bone slipped, overthrew me.
Week 12: Pitchforks
"People! Equip yourselves! Tonight, 'wretches' revolt!"
Week 13: Burnt Coals
Hot and tarnished flame...extinguish it.
Week 14: Horrible Cook
Flip the trough! Pigs have standards.
Week 15: Getting Pregnant
Week 16: Choose Life
Flexible spine, quivering heart: a keeper.
Week 17: Disarmed?
"Maybe not, Officer Patrick...Quick, run!"
Week 18: Special Order
"Sure, sure; no way! 38. Peeled?"
Week 19: Rebels
Forced peace created a new war.
Week 20: Opossum
Hit that? Thanks; super! Real lunch.
RequiemForASoldier...RequiemForASoldier...7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
They bury him under a flag, on a cool autumn morning. His brother escorts her, supports her tenderly through the service. He is the one who flinches at the rifle salute. She closes her eyes and opens her heart and lets the staccato shots pass through her like a wind.
Only blanks. Not real bullets. Nothing like the barreling rounds that ripped his flesh and smashed in under his narrow ribs and nailed his life to the inside back of his flack jacket.
That slim silent figure in uniform. Laid out cold and still. Thats not him. Hes not here. He slipped out of his shell somewhere in the middle of a desert city under siege. Hes maybe still there, a little lost. A little uncertain where to go from here. He might linger where his brothers are still fighting. Screaming silent warning. Aching to fight beside them still, to prote
Eulogy For A HeroHe did not hold a mighty rankEulogy For A Hero5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
his name is yet obscure.
But for us few who stood by him
the memory endures.
He did not falter, but stood strong;
nor gave in to his fear.
And others took their confidence
from knowing he was near.
He didn't fight for riches,
for glory, or for fame.
He swore to serve the nation,
and when they called, he came.
He did not choose the nature
of the war he went to fight.
He did his duty day-to-day,
tried to sort wrong from right.
He went as he was ordered,
and countered every threat.
He studied lessons of the past,
that we should not forget.
He made new friends at every step
And never lost the old.
He did not let his purpose turn
his heart and mind so cold.
He tried to be respectful,
though his mission might invade.
He never failed to answer for
mistakes that he had made.
A better friend I never knew,
the chance I think is slim.
But let me tell you why I'm here
today, instead of him.
That day was brilliant, dry and hot,
the distance, a mirage.
Our thirsty, tire
AFortress...His embrace a fortressAFortress...6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Her bumper sticker is peeling. The one that says 'I (heart) my Marine!' It's been months, but it's still true, so she keeps it, letting it peel and fade in the weather like a scab. Like a scar.
The sticker is hers, the truck is his. Nevermind that all the paperwork is now in her name. Nevermind he hasn't driven it in a year or more. She drives it to work, and pumps the high-priced gas, and pays to have the summer tires swapped for the snows. But it's his truck.
The wall above the bed becomes his shrine. She papers it with photos. His high school senior photo. Their prom photos. Photos of him with his brother, his sisters, his dogs. Photos of him hugging his mother, laughing with his father. Photos of the two of them hiking, swimming, lounging on the couch, playing touch football with their friends