For those of you who don’t know, the lovely Ms. Cara Michaels hosts an awesome flash fiction contest on her blog each Monday called Menage Monday. You can see this week’s prompt here!
A month or so ago, I asked for input on what to post here — and I got several votes for fiction by yours truly. Hence, me sharing this. Disclaimer: I wrote this in the twenty minutes before I had to go to work. Be gentle.
Here’s my entry!
“I’ve got a feeling!”
Corporal Howard tensed under her slicker at the private’s singing. She turned to face him, rain drawing wet lines down her neck under her helmet. “Is there a reason you find that appropriate, Kent?”
The plastic whispered beneath the pit-pat of falling rain, and Howard felt her squad’s unease. They’d lost people in Iran. Kent hadn’t.
The flat, polished markers spread out around her as if poured from one central location.
“Come on, Corporal. Gotta stay cheery.” Kent hummed a few more bars.
“Corporal.” Lieutenant Armstrong broke formation. “This grave. It’s open.”
The ground sank into a depression, puddled with murky water.
“There’s more of them.” Armstrong gestured. “Eight o’clock. In a straight line from here.”
Howard’s throat tickled. She swallowed. Straight line.
Kent still sang. Howard shook her head, turning back to Armstrong.
A splash spun her around.
A leg protruded from one of the collapsed graves. Kent’s boot, vanishing into the muck.
“Go. Go now!” Howard barked.
The lines of rain froze to her skin.
She ran, the image of Kent’s boot in front of her eyes. Wasn’t the first time she’d found one of those in there.
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