War is more than death. It’s mud, bugs, the weight of packs, and the burden of innocence. Death was welcome. Men scanned the horizon, hoping for the grim reaper’s beckon—an end to suffering.
Huddled in foxholes, we waited. When the time came, we silenced thought and fired. The enemy looked just like us—mud-caked, uniformed, and shooting back.
Finally, the reaper called.
Now, the enemy advances.
Dolls, dinosaurs, and dump trucks face our troop.
Originally published with an Honorable Mention on Flash Fiction Blogs — recognized for capturing the emotional weight of war in just 100 words.
Revised for tense shift and impact 032025 – Drop your thoughts below! 👇👇👇
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