autumn 1918, World War 1, a short story
Outside the rooms and lives of still sleeping people chilly city streets seemed to solemnly hold on to the silence and tranquility of the rapidly fading night as two female workers hurled a big chunk of ice off of their truck.
Small whisks of fog and condensing dew rose from the street and ice as their combined strained muscles worked together, holding the 200lbs heavy block of ice with the might of their arms and hands and two black steel claws that sank deep into the coldness of ice.
It was October, and autumn, but the weather was still warm and filled with sun filled days that washed away the colder temperatures of the night.
As they began to carry the heavy ice towards the nearby basement, far away, on what could have been a completely different planet mortar grenades continually took to the mid-day sky.
Like small versions of future space rockets, the elongated steel barrels hurled, screaming into the clouds and blue skies.
Like shooting stars, and fiery demons, for a few brief moments those angry metal slugs burned nothing but the air and clouds before they violently pummeled through dirt and sandbags, concrete and steel. Hot solid metal in angry, raging search for flesh and bone to tear to pieces. It´s hunger for blood and living tissue to consume and destroy was all encompassing.
Heavy thumping sounds accompanied the inferno that took place in this valley.
Shattered trees clawed blackened and broken towards the freedom of the clouds and blue skies as dirt and fumes of blood sprayed beautiful, hateful strokes of death and pain upon what had been a beautiful, green meadow earlier this morning.
An empty boot stood defiantly right next to a perfect white daisy.
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