I’m no stranger to death, years at war made sure of that. Now I stand here in disbelief, caught in the heaviness of life, my shirt soaked in tears, wandering how to take the next step. Anger is pouring through my veins; they had no right to take her. An inner voice cuts through my rage, “Is this pain felt on both sides? What of the widows left in your wake?” I ponder death’s meaning and wander if this goat knows loss; perhaps he is the only one at peace in a country torn in civil war.
This is my entry to Friday Fictioneers: A group of bloggers from all over who write a short fiction story of ~100 words and submit it here. The process begins with a photo prompt which is displayed above. I hope you enjoy!