All characters depicted herein are over the age of 18, with the exception of one little girl who merely needs to get her cat out of a tree. Don’t worry, nothing bad happens to her. She makes it through the story just fine.
“You don’t have a soul. You have a body. You are a soul.”
It would’ve been a beautiful spring morning, except for the war. The sky was clear. A mild wind passed through the trees above him, sending ripples through their lush, full leaves. The only things keeping the birds from singing were the gunfire and the tanks. One rumbling tank, anyway. It was his tank, rolling on away from him. Beyond that he faintly heard the fleeing enemy tank. The other German tank sat burning nearby. He smelled the smoke.
Simon lay on his back, looking up at the rustling leaves in the trees. His whole center seemed to be on fire, yet wet at the same time.
“I told your men we would stay with you,” someone said. His eyes glanced to his right, where the old Gypsy woman knelt over him to gently pull the tommy gun from his grip. She set it down and took his hands in hers. There were other Gypsies nearby, but not close enough to speak.
“I should be with them,” he coughed.
She shook her head. “Your men will carry on. They will win. Your fighting is done.” The old woman brushed a bit of dirt from his forehead. “You look a bit young to be the leader.”