100 Words – Wounds

Barely awake, I lay in the bloody mud. My wounds ooze unexpected colors. The field is full of the dead, enemy and comrade alike. I alone am still alive. The battle was fierce and futile. People died on and for an empty field. Mothers and lovers will weep. The wolves and vultures are already disposing of the remains. Our God and their God look down and pity us as they share a somber drink in some heavenly tavern. No glory for the fools below. Years from now the schoolbooks will label this my greatest victory. The schoolbooks will be wrong.   #100words

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100 Words – Forever Wounds

Back in San Francisco I knew a homeless guy who used to sell jokes for a quarter. Then his foot got sliced open and he found that sympathy got him a lot more money than humor. So he never let his foot heal. Once a week or so he'd take a steak knife and open it up again. As horrific as that sounds I do the same thing in my mind. Emotional scars, some forty to fifty years old, are torn open over and over again. Familiar pain relived. Some wounds just never heal, especially if you don't let them. #100words

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