Childhood Warfare

Bullets whisked through the air, grenades pelted the earth with deafening explosions, and mud covered us as our boots splattered it everywhere. The stains would come out, but the bullets would not. We fought harder and harder, pushing each other back and forth. The lifeless youth was not strong enough to contain the third Reich, and it would never be. Our rifles pulsed as muzzle fire filled the surrounding medium, and our footprints marks of our strides. The Americans would never push us back, we’d bulged them as far as they could, and soon their line would falter completely. Victory was in our hands, and the taste of blood was sweet. We were so close. A bullet struck my chest and i fell for a moment before peeling it from my uniform. A hurl of grenades bounced over our position and we dove for cover. We charged out at each other and our bayonets twisted and bent beyond repair. Familiar smells entered our minds as we fought, the smell of a home cooked meal, the charcoal of a fired grill, and the fresh bread baked daily, and our time had come. We charged again at the bunker watching the cowards retreat behind their walls and we swarmed them inside. Victory had finally come to- “Billy? It’s dinner time, please come wash up”!