Quiet darkens.
I lie peaceful and still,
dreamless,
without care or worry,
when I am driven to my feet
in a ferocious start.
My body moves
with practiced purpose,
a plan already forming,
my mind not yet awake.
Smoke.
Cordite.
An RPG's drumbeat rolls.
Weapon placement considered.
Vest.
Ammunition remembered.
Then my mind catches up.
My dining room surrounds me.
Thunder claps,
and the scent of a distant fire
still hangs heavy in the air.
Survivors remain.
Vigilant still,
even when the cordite
is only a memory.
