War
#71 – Officer
“It has been quite extraordinary weather, wouldn’t you say Sir?”
The tailor zipped the measuring tape around the Captain’s chest, his chattering filling the silence as the soldier looked out into the street. His wife and kids were waving at him from the pavement, pressing their faces against the glass while the tailor’s back was turned. The Captain stifled a laugh.
The tailor flinched. “Sir, Please,..”
The shop was gone.
Only the desert remained. Only the bullets. Only the blood. Only Private Allen’s twisted body as he begged for help.
The Captain collapsed into tears at the words.
“…. Sir,……… please,…..”.
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Promo image by Jacob Valerio via Unsplash.
PTSD is a harrowing burden that I would not wish on anyone. I hope in this story that people reflect a little on it with compassion and care.
I’m looking for new one word story titles all the time! Tell me yours in the comments section or tweet them to me@timaustin2k using the hashtag #onewordonestory.
I’ll see you again tomorrow for “Suspicion”.
#68 – Principle
A stubby finger pushed a pawn across the board, cigar ash falling around the piece in a halo of smoking debris. Churchill growled and smiled.
“There is no instance of a nation benefiting from prolonged warfare,” the Britain stated, leaning back into his leather armchair.
A rook slid across the board to threaten the pawn. Churchill frowned.
A finger tapped against the board, sweeping away the cigar ash with disdain.
“That is why this war will be short,” came a replay from across the table.
“No, Adolf.”
Churchill slipped a knight to checkmate his opponent’s king.
“But it will be won.”
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Photo by Nguyen Pham on Unsplash
I’ve no idea why but the first image I had for this word was Churchill sat drinking with Hitler pleasantly. It adapted in the writing but,… what an extraordinary idea,…. I mean, what would they talk about?! There’s a hell of a book in that,….
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See you tomorrow for “Manifesto”.
#65 – Threatened
Spit was raining over the bald man’s chin, his mouth a snarling mask of fury as he waved his banner high.
Katie watched as the man passed, the police cordon holding she and her brother from creeping closer. Her wide eyes marvelled at the sight, flinching as the mob screamed their hate.
The bald man caught sight of her brother’s uniform and stopped.
“Iraq?”
Katie’s brother nodded.
Though no more than a twisted joke, Katie watched as the two men raised their fists.
When the condolence letter arrived two weeks later, Katie rose her fist too.
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Promo Image by Benjamin Faust via Unsplash.
Continuing the story of Katie, first seen in the tale “Tea” – dedicated to the wonderful Devika Fernando. Click here for each part of the story so far.
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#6 – Fighting
Every breath was defiance: every kick was flung against a fate that was as cruel and cold as the depths below. Amid the mountainous swells, crashing and flailing as spray stung his cheeks, the last of the Derby PALS rolled and twisted in the grey dawn. A thousand miles away his love was waiting; a thousand miles away, a father would be welcomed home. A new day was dawning on the surging mid-Atlantic, the Laconia now settling to her bed and sleeping far below. A wedding was expected back in England: a searchlight was gleaming on the horizon.
(c) Tim Austin 2016
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One Word, One Story 