Hands

        It is laughter that pours from his mouth; a laughter that fights against the tears that pour from his eyes; against the ringing that stings his ears; against the pain the pain in his chest, his heart, and his head; against his lips eve, as they twist and twitch to kiss these hands before him.
        
        It is the laughter of a madman that he hears, but it is not he that is mad, he thinks, it is the world, no it is a mad, mad world where children may be blown apart moments into their story, killed by children who know nothing of what they're fighting for, only that their brothers were killed, and he has heard of these children on the field finding their brothers with bullet holes and the guns in their hands, so laugh, laugh, laugh; it is not madness, he thinks.

        Nor are his actions mad, no, he thinks, he'd rather kiss these hands that held the gun that killed his son, his son, oh god, his Son. No, he doesn't want to see another son blown apart, not another man's son, he wants to see no more, and so he kneels with his eyes closed and laughs as his lips twist and twitch and taste sweat and blood, and now oil and metal and it's that same sweat and blood, and oil and metal he's seen what it can do. It can take a child, a child always filling the air around him with words and in the breath between words fill the air with-

        And now he tastes salt, salt and sweat and blood, and oil and metal, and he hears it first, loud enough to have torn his son's words from the air, he thinks.

        And maybe he mumbled, I must be the first man to ever have kissed the hands that killed my son.

Reviews

[Carrie Montgomery]

WOW! This was so very unique. The rhythm matched the thoughts that went racing through this man's mind. I was captivated from the first words and stayed focused to the end...short but very powerful.