Seven

Memories of fallen friends.

  Seven men standing shoulder to shoulder, dressed in dusty sand faded uniforms. They move in unison as they step closer to the wooden podium, where rest a tan pair of combat boots that support a carbine rifle.  A pair of silver identification tags hangs in the wind from the handgrip of the rifle. The music of a trumpet plays in the distance, echoing off the cold concrete walls and resonating into the sand that six hundred  men stand on to remember those who once stood among them. Seven rifles go off at once, the shots ring in the ears of the men,  awakening them from their thoughts, only to bring their minds back to a land that has shown them no compassion. The heat lurks away as the radiant sun lowers past the concrete walls and the seven men lower their salute. They turn and walk slowly wiping away the tears that came uncontrollably moments before. These ceremonies have been held for hundreds of years, and will continue to be held for many years to come. These are the ceremonies of a warrior lost in battle.