Air

It's about someone who finally has come to terms with his feelings about war.

It had been nine years since he had set foot outside his village.

It still triggered a feeling of unease, but he was finally ready to overcome it. Life hadn’t been simple. Secrets needed to be told no matter how hard they tried to hide themselves.

 

   “Son,” he paused, unsure whether he should carry on, “Look into the distance, what can you see?”

 

The child wondered how he could answer this, as it seemed quite serious and he was much too young to see much more than a very hilly landscape.

 

“Is it different to what you see?” The child decided this was most suitable, as he wouldn’t be asking the question if he already knew.

 

“We see more or less the same but also dramatically different” came the reply. The child didn’t understand this but did not question. It would be something to learn later on, when he was grown up.

 

---

 

   The man closed his eyes. Still the memories lay there. They weren’t restless, rather laying down peacefully, but still drawing attention. Like a snorer in a shared room. He opened his eyes. He still saw battle remains in his distance.

 

“Dad, why are we here?” The child looked up expectantly.

 

“So the past, present and future can mingle” The man looked down at his hands, his nine fingers, which were mimicking his words. He sighed.

 

“What has this got to do with me?” The child also did not know why they had driven hours to arrive at nowhere. His father wasn’t making sense, but he preferred this to his usual secluded self.

 

“You are the present” The man let out another sigh “I was the past… I am the past”

 

“And the future?”

 

“The air you breathe, son”

---

 

   The man could hear it now, see it, relive it. He was there in the past remembering it for a few minutes. The shrapnel like sea spray, spitting at everyone, hitting those that didn’t deserve to die. The wicked eyes of those in charge of getting us soldiers on the front to push, those that leave tides of soldiers to rot like seaweed in amongst a storm. The blood caked onto the uniforms like oil polluting water.

 

The man stood there and turned to face the truth.

 

“Son” he started “Have I told you about what happened nine years ago?”

 

It had been nine years since he had set foot out of his village.

It had triggered a feeling of unease, but he had finally overcome it. Life wasn’t simple. And secrets had been told

Author's Note

I am always reading stories of the second world war and this came out from it all.