GoldBaron

Love is like the wind.  sometimes warm.  sometimes cold Sometimes it's a gale, sometimes a breeze.  sometimes it's not there at all Sometimes when we least expect it; When we don't want it Never when we need it. defiant before a storm It whispers in our ear. rustles through our hair. dances with the clouds It's whimsical. it's mystical.  it's invisible It's ancient We think we understand it Pretend to capture it Like an old sailor, coaxing the wind But it blows around us. through us. past us You can run with it. sail with it.  fly with it It tugs at your coat tail But in the end It always leaves us behind

Roger's unit was trapped in a firefight, and the squads had been rotating from front to rear. It was dark out, and he decided to light a cigarette. As quickly as the Zippo flicked and the end glowed red, a bullet cracked past his face. It stung like a whip, and burned as it cracked past his cheek. The cigarette went out in a flash as they shot a Viet Cong who had crawled within yards of them. He couldn't stop saying how sorry he was, but really they were grateful; they never knew he was there, and he could've tossed a grenade in and killed them all. Not ironically, he never smoked again. It always seemed to happen to him. On a patrol

Late Night by Candlelight The sky turns to a deep purple, and the first star makes itself known.  In the dimness the match strikes across the box, flaring from its slumber with a hiss.  It crackles and dances against the wick, until two flames entwine themselves.  The hand pulls away and shakes it out, the match's passion burned out in a heartbeat.  The candle sits helplessly on the table, shadows dance up and down the walls as the window turns an inky black, soft shafts of yellow light leaking out to catch the withered old oak tree outside.   He paces a while, the match smoldering at the base of the candle.  The evening star sinks below th