Battlefields

Great or small, ancient or recent. All battles do damage.

    Tall golden stalks waved in the wind as a young boy runs through the honey colored expanse with childlike abandon. The wispy tops of grass tickle the boy's palms as he runs through the great field. His arms are outstretched like a bird as he pretends to glide over an amber lake, flying fast and low. Echoes of heavy drums and bagpipes suddenly rang in his ears as he reached the shores of his imagined body of water, and abruptly stopped.

    The boy shaded his eyes from the last of the dying sun's rays and stared across the ancient battlefield before him. The dead and the dying lay in heaps stretching to the horizon. Tams and tartans, broken colors and shattered pipes, blood, sweat and fear. These filled the boy's senses and made him dizzy. Young Liam turned and faced the direction his house lay and thought ‘Another vision I'll have to keep to myself.’ A memory of his late grandfather floated through his mind, followed by the sharp pain of loss. The old man was nothing like Liam’s own father. He was kind and gentle. He spoke softly and never questioned his peculiar gift. But his grandfather had passed away over a year ago and the boy felt as though he had lost not only a grandfather, but an important ally.

    Liam faced his vision again as a ground fog crept over, covering it completely. Hearing his father calling out from the tree line behind him, he thought ‘Why can't I have visions of more helpful things, like how to please HIM.’

    The boy held in a shutter, wiped his eyes and reluctantly turned. Liam headed back to a more recent battlefield. His home.