The Writing Thread
Post any of your writings in here.
Lieutenant Mitchell ordered me and a trooper from the 82nd as scouts. We distanced ourselves from the rest of the group at about 100 yards and started out for anywhere. We were lost, it was the morning of June 6 and the parachute drops had gone SNAFU on us. Turning the corner we came upon a road with hedgerows on each side, it was just like all the rest of Normandy.
The 82nd trooper broke the quiet,
"I'm Jonathan, Timothy Jonathan from Idaho" he said smiling holding out his hand, I shook it.
"My names Sean Stephenson, California."
"Aw, California? I've always wanted to go there,"
A machine gun rattled off to the left of us, but it was to far away to worry about.
"Ya, I bet being stuck on a farm ain't the best. The beach and sun is all I need."
We continued down on the road, a church tower begin to appear up ahead.
"Y'all think it's bad, but its beautiful, I can see it now, my dog Max lying on the front porch, my two little brothers playing out in the fields."
"Yes sum it is, I got a girl back home to marry, once this god forsaken war is over, I'm planning on marrying my lady, and using my jump money to buy a car to show my family the world." He paused.
We begin turning on another road exactly the same as the last.
"Thats awful nice of you to do."
"Yep, you should come visit us sometime." Those were his last words, for a rifle bullet tore through Jonathan's chest spraying blood, he let out a loud yelp and collapsed to the ground. He twitched then died. The rifle shot sounded seconds later, it all happened so fast that I didn't have time to react, I just stood there on the road staring at Jonathan's body.
Here's to the last one. Here's to the next one. Here's to the ones we left behind.
Sgt. Donald R. Burgett, 101st, 506th, A Co.
“The usual?” asked the waiter.
“Yeah, go on”, he replied.
“No, I think I’ll have blackcurrant this time”. “Damn”, he though, regretting his decision, “I should have stuck with strawberry”.
“You seem to be quite a regular here now.”
“Umm, yeah” he replied, and after what he hoped was an imperceptible moment of though, added, “It’s a nice place.” He didn’t like it that much, the coffee was better at home, not that it was that bad here, but it was quite expensive, and it was a little boring, but it was the only place on the street, so he didn’t have much of a choice about the matter.
He opened his paper as the waiter scurried off.
She hummed to herself as she walked. It was fairly warm that morning, so she hadn’t bothered with a coat; her dress was left to the devices of the breeze that blew in off the sea. The cobbles on the street made her ankles ache slightly, but she thought it was worth it.
“I hope he’s there,” she thought to herself. “God, I wish I wasn’t so pathetic sometimes, why couldn’t I have been born with a little courage.”
She turned the corner, and sure enough, he was there. It had been the same for the last four mornings of the week; he was sat with his paper at one of the tables outside.
She looked down at her feet as she went past, not wanting to look up at him, examining lined pavement slabs and hoping she avoided the streetlamps.
She heaved a little sigh of relief that she’s made it, but regretted her inaction. She felt so foolish, she worked across town and there was no need to come down here but she didn’t care, as long as she got to see him again.
He’d dropped his paper slightly but lifted in back up, deep in thought. She’d gone again, and he hadn’t taken his chance. He was too afraid. It had been the same every morning for the last week. He looked at his watch, impatient for his coffee.
Why did he not just speak to her? He wished he could be someone else sometimes and mentally kicked himself. He wasn’t much of a risk taker, never had been, not when it came to his feelings. Physical pain he was fine with, he’d often risked his neck as a kid doing stupid stunts, but emotions he wasn’t so good with. Like that one time when as a dare he’d had to climb onto the roof of the garage next door, with the loose gravel, and run across and jump off it. He remembered almost slipping, but the thrill was always good. And it had only been about 10 feet to the ground; he wouldn’t have ended up in too much trouble.
He looked up and saw Paul, the waiter, approaching with his breakfast, finally. God, he was starving and it was only eight thirty. He took a sip of the coffee before preparing to dig into the bagel, without jam today, he thought that blackcurrant would probably be a bit much this early in the morning.
When he’d finally finished a couple of minutes later, he brushed the crumbs of his paper, cursing the butter spot, and went to the counter.
“A can of coke to take away please” he said.
“Sure thing, is that all?”
“Yeah, just the bill please”
“Right, just a second”
The till beeped and then clunked open as he handed over his fiver.
“Here’s your change. Same time Monday then?”
“I expect so”, and at that he picked up the can and left, turned right out of the café and headed to work.