• He knew that the ground was hard beneath him, that the air was cold around him, that his stomach cried for food and his mother cried for him. As the thunder struck out, so did he. His shoulder complained as he watched his target fall.

    The ground was hard, which he took note of. Discomfort was not taken into consideration. His shoulder’s pain was a captain reporting to a general: “We have taken a hit, but everything is under control.” The target falling was a man. The target probably had a family back home. These things did not concern him; he had forgotten how to feel.

    To live without feeling was necessary. The man he had just ended was young, and though he was barely old enough for the Americans to allow him to fight, he had probably been forced to. He was a waste of a man and a bullet. The sniper did not like the draft.

    As he repositioned himself, his joints reported that he had been still for too long. It was a good night, though. The moon lit his targets, and the storm covered his shots. Two men had fallen already, and the Americans had yet to search for him. Adjusting to his new viewpoint, another man walked out from behind cover.

    Looking through his telescopic sights, the newest victim became clear: unlike the other two of the night, this one looked both sober and awake. He walked from the same place as the last target, and stopped within sight of the corpse. He looked at the corpse. He then looked into the woods in which the sniper lurked. And after picking a spot likely to contain a quiet German killer, he smiled.

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    The chilly air of the night moved through the American, leaving him cold. Memories of happier times left him colder. His mother had not understood when he volunteered. When he told her he was escaping, she told him to give it time. Time heals all, she said. You will move on, and there will be others, she assured him. He knew she meant well, but he knew she was wrong. Some wounds are too deep.

    Everyone was proud to see a man who wanted to defend his country. Because he was not selfish, he let them think that. They threw him a party when he left. Everyone he knew was there, including the only girl he truly cared for. She had left her new man at home. He drank, talked with his friends, and pretended that he would miss them. When people were leaving, she gently approached him. She smiled, and in that smile was everything he wanted. For a brief instant in time, they were together again. They were watching fireworks on the fourth of July, they were engaged. They were on their first date, they were laughing at an inside joke. And then she said good luck, and goodbye. Everything they were, and everything they could have been, hit him in the chest. But he was not selfish, so he smiled and said thanks, and nothing more.

    He had not forgotten how to feel. Smiling as he did when she said goodbye, he waited for the thunder. And when it came, he escaped the memories.