Sunday Morning

         It was Sunday morning, little holes of light shining through the dark clouds that covered the sky. It had been raining all morning, and puddles had begun to form at the sides of the street. He sat at the kitchen table, looking out the window; a nice hot steaming cup of tea lay before him. It was typical English weather, and typical English people stayed true to their stereotypes. All morning he had been shaking his head, watching joggers too stubborn to move when a car went by get soaked by the splashing water and curse at the drivers as they went by. He couldn't believe is own people's stubbornness; it had been bothered him all morning. He thought of how simple of a solution it would be to simply move over three feet when a car went by. Such a simple solution, such dryer clothes. Then another solution dawned upon him. Get a treadmill.
         But today, the continually stormy weather was not his biggest annoyance. And, surprisingly, nor were the joggers.
         Today his biggest grievance was the news. For more than two years there had been a continuous struggle, a never-ending war between faiths and governments. The British were showing their bull-headed tenacity in all its faded glory as they refused to let go of a war that was not their own. He was curious to know just how many more men and women should have to die before they would remove their forces from that hellish plane of warfare. They had helped and in part taken hold of the government, and captured their leader, but this war was not of power. It was of faith. The enemy was fighting for their way of life. It was not our war to win.

         The man walked outside, tea in hand, wearing pajama pants and slippers. He walked to the edge of the street before his house, a large puddle forming at his feet. He knelt down, looking closely at his own face in the reflection. He saw a gray, weary face, a stubble that needed a good chainsaw treatment. He saw his own scars of war.
         A car came around the corner, honking as it passed and drenching the man and his slippers.

         He smiled. Someday, everyone would learn.