Macbeth
Fair is foul, foul is fair. — Shakespeare
Entering the mass tent for breakfast, Macbeth picked up yesterday’s paper.📰 The front page announced the armistice had been signed the day before. The photo said it all; the generals shaking hands, broad smiles on broad faces, eternal peace around the corner.
Macbeth was the soldier’s nickname that he got from his corporal, a stagehand in civilian life. Ever under fire in skirmishes and long battles, Macbeth would always come out unscathed. “No man born of a woman can harm you,” the corporal would tell him. “You really are Macbeth.”
Later that morning the lieutenant sent them out in the forest. Last thing to do, round up the scattered losers. Those poor bastards, they don’t even know the war’s over.
First, Macbeth found a rusty gun in the mud and then a torn knapsack. Soon he discovered the enemy soldier too, sitting at a stream washing his feet. Macbeth pointed his carbine at him. “The war is over, you’re my prisoner now!”
The POW nodded. “Congratulations. Please hand me the towel.”
Macbeth raised his voice, “Quit the monkey business! Get it in your thick head, it’s over. The armistice was signed yesterday. The peace conference is already underway. They predict it’s gonna take but a few days. Again, the war is over. We won, you lost.”
The POW shrugged. “No, brotherman. They won, you and me lost. We always do. Get it into your thick head, it’s gonna take us at least two decades to rebuild the world. Toil and trouble, as usual. And then they’ll get busy thinking up a new hurly-burly.”
Macbeth lowered his carbine and handed the POW the towel. Then he walked back to the hill, pulled the gun out of the mud and hurled it into the stream. “You ain’t gonna need this no more.” He took the bullets out of his own rifle. “Put on your boots, let’s go.”
And the two men began trudging toward peace. 🕊️
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The first version of this story was published on March 16, 2024, in Friday Flash Fiction.
