He was still alive and that was bad. He had volunteered for the scouting group, hoping that if he ventured close enough to the enemy line, a sniper would take him down and it would be over. Dead. His sins would be absorbed by the scorched battlefield and he would float up to the paradise he had envisaged so vividly as a child. God would be there to absolve him for following the others, for not standing up and rebelling against the fanatics, but would understand and forgive, and walk with him through the gates of heaven.
Blogging since 2009, I'm a south Florida girl living in the home of mudding and hog hunting. Just trying to survive amid too many books and vastly outnumbered by a ZooCrew, hoping not to wind up a trophy head mounted on someone's wall in the process. Lover of lists, an eternal procrastinator, and really just a flower child at heart.
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