The back of a truck had a nasty smell nobody could push out of the nose. Nervous brothers tried to sleep, someone coughed, the truck shook on the dirt road and winter was creeping in from the entrance. Young faces of my companions now looked older with that long beards, wrinkles filled with dirt that lined their foreheads and restless arms that have seen combat. Uniforms on their back told the same story, even the gear with scratched edges haven’t spoke on the contrary.
With every passed mile, I grew homesick, eager to go home, meet my family and have a decent meal and a long bath. I tried to recall the spring, the flowers in my building’s garden where couples kissed on the bench and laughter of children along with squealing of chains on a swings that were near the door.
I remembered the neighbours on the windows, calling for the children to come inside during the sunsets where drones in the sky lightened up first, then the levitating street lights flashed and burned until the morning came with just the same red and orange on the rims of a city.
Singing of a girl echoing in the staircase, the smell of freshly baked bread traveling in the hall, radio rustling in one of the apartments, a lost cat resting on the mailboxes, fighting the mail drone and father watching the hologram news – it all ran fast in my mind.
Old lady throwing crumbs at the birds, drones chasing them away like these flying things were pests. Ah, the memories I have – made me mild like a summer breeze. It’s a shame for enemy have targeted those buildings first.
And more stories for you.