Old Men

The story of an old man, waiting for a friend to come home, one last time.

Gazing out over fields of gold, painted amber by the setting of the crimson sun, an old man sits and waits. He gazes out from under heavy brows, his face an etched mask of lines, as if cut from weathered stone, crafted by the winds and rain, his tired eyes watch, waiting for a face he has not seen for many a year. While The Old Man sits and wonders on his bygone time, a man, tired, in worn ragged clothes, strolls up to the crooked old house, plops down beside The Old Man, and speaks.
"It's been a long time, how have you been old friend?"
The Old Man continues to gaze over the fields, then after a few moments, speaks.
"I have been well, my life has been full, and filled with joy since last we spoke, I've often thought of you and of the times we shared. Wonder what it would of been like to have you here, these past years. I've missed you, never thought I'd see you again." The man just smiled and then spoke.
"I made you a promise, I told you I'd always come back to lend you a hand, and help carry you where you need to go." With that, he held out his hand to his old friend and said, "come on, let me help you up." With that, the man held out his hand. With some trepidation The Old Man reached out and clasped the hand of his friend. As he touched him, the burden of all the years slipped away, and he stood. There beside his friend he felt renewed, he looked back, and saw, himself, old and worn, his eyes glassy and vacant. Then he turned, with his friend, clad in there old faded uniforms, stride off across the green fields, swimming in an ocean of red poppies, broken only by white crosses, to join their fallen brothers at rest.

Reviews

[Woody]

very nice. and a greart ending. I like the descriptions, too. short but sweet as they say.