Monday, June 20, 2016

100 Words or Less, Hannah Frankman

1943 by Hannah Frankman

He left in the pale dawn, without saying goodbye.
The dirt road glittered under the rising sun, covered with thin dew, enough to sparkle but not enough to weigh down the dust.
He walked up the hill. A thin figure in a shift stood in the upstairs window and watched him go, fingers holding his last kiss to her lips, tears burning her eyes.
The farmhand with the mangled fingers stood in the barn doorway and ached to be going, too.
Man walking towards soldier. His feet kicked up the dust.
God, the set of his shoulders was beautiful.

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