He held the pen in his hand, paper at the ready. The shelling
had slowed as darkness fell and the light of the lantern shone like hope in the
night. His thoughts roamed back to Thanksgiving dinner at the home table.
Laughter and family and the table groaning under the weight of the feast. If he
closed his eyes, he could see the faces of his dear ones gathered around.
“Incoming!” Someone yelled out from a few yards away.
He ducked. The bomb made impact a few feet away. The dust settled slowly.
He put the pen to the paper.
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