Canons booming, the sky lit up by artillery. Enemies laid slain, others maimed beyond recognition. The soldier fielded his way into something that felt remotely sheltering–blades of grass, near the sound of a babbling brook.
He rested there, slept, dreamed, of his family, the dog that lapped up water and made everyone laugh.
He felt the dog’s tongue on his face now.
He woke up. He was alive. Not at war. But not yet at peace.