Poem: Proud Cycle

Shiver awake the first day, and there was no sun

warming me or the others, though we could see shine

in through the ceiling holes, we were to together though,

hearts beating like ovens, we were kept keeping love

warm under the roofs, we prayed they’d not return.

 

The bad days born again, my brother died in a tub

drowning shallow water away, but those of us

holding hope sacked movements eternal, failing

first, but surrender has been taken from us, the weak

have no choice but to fight, live or die depending.

 

The overlords whatever they are, killing for fun

or boredom business decisions, the kernel

remains ever thirsty, for we will emerge again

wearing letters, knowing many will die this time

as last again, but resistance is foundation.

Poem: Proud Cycle

The Apple (100 word flash fiction)

“So far,” Colonel Johns said looking over the remaining rations, “it’s not lookin’ great.”

We were desperately starving, and there were six of us.  “We’ve got one apple, and that’s it.”

Chaplain Holmes’ eyes flicked from the apple to group captain Mandrake and then to the gunners Thompson and Dunbar, all of them craving to the point of breaking.

It was only Jimmy, the homeless orphan-turned mess hall boy, who knew what to do.  He lunged at the apple, grabbed it and flung it over the side of the raft into the ocean.

We all starved, but none were murdered.

The Apple (100 word flash fiction)