[Richard G]

.
Unknown Soldier


She lived in a spartan, silver trailer
like Jim Rockford's,
only smaller. It caught fire
with every sunset,
drove her mad in heavy rain.

But all of it was hers
and it was home.

She was no p.i. though.
Got no stomach for a mystery
– like why she married him
with his twenty hard years on her,
or where Junior had landed
when he'd gone and left the Service –
too busy getting on with getting on.

But sometimes, in the twilight,
when summer outstayed its welcome,
glass half-empty, slowly melting ice
she thought that all her life she'd been a soldier
under fire, as the line moved on.
Leaving her again in no man's land.

It never was her war,
it was what she had been born to,
all she did know
she had to fight.
No Surrender,
Semper Fi,
and Al Pacino's last Hoo-ah!

Life is lessons.
Some she did learn well,
though school's barely a memory
– Ten years out of how many? –
and most of what they taught
turned out to be plain wrong. Still,
she studied, got her numbers,
enough to know the price you paid;
and letters, let her read the fine print.

She made sure
her name was right there
on the title.

And if she had regrets
it was she never found the time
to join the library,
or learn to dance,
or know the names of all those pretty stars.

Life gets in the way,
she'd say. So she lived
as best she could;
took the beatings and the bounty
but never once broke down.

She stood up straight
and looked it right back in the eye.

Her heart was set
on Heaven
– Not because the preachers said so,
too self-satisfied and slick to trust –
but because she'd worked so hard
and had never, ever, quit.
Surely that must count for something?
Leave nothing to the atheists.
She didn't believe in them. But she hoped
against all hope,
that one day she would have her Justice.

Now the black car's coming for her,
through the dust and morning sunshine,
with the dew still on the silver,
the skin's cold to the touch.
Maybe someone's making a phone call,
booking a seat out on the next flight:
"No, it's nothing, don't you worry,
go back to sleep, I'll call you later."

Or maybe not.

Her affairs are all in order,
they've been that way ten years or more,
the plot picked out after 'The Scare',
she never needed telling twice.
The accounts have all been settled,
there's instructions for the masons,
it's her marks that they'll be making;
ain’t nobody else’s business, no,
she told them exactly what to write.



.

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Richard—

This is a very well-developed character sketch of a tough, old woman facing death all alone. I thought at first that the “instructions to the masons” for her epitaph suggested suicide, but that does not seem consistent with the pride she takes in having “never, ever quit.” I decided that “the Scare” from ten years earlier returned and she is preparing herself for her final moments. Perfect title.

I find myself writing pieces like this that can’t seem to decide whether they want to be poems or flash fiction. I think there is enough meat to this character to warrant developing it into a short story. I would be interested in getting the responses of Junior and her ex-husband to her death. With so few possessions, would she have left a will? Would her son, husband, and maybe sister fight over the trailer home and her few treasures?

Hope this is helpful.

Glenn

[Richard G]

Hi Glenn.

This is a very well-developed character sketch of a tough, old woman facing death all alone.
Facing (and faced, I think.)

I find myself writing pieces like this that can’t seem to decide whether they want to be poems or flash fiction.
I know what you mean.
I think there is enough meat to this character to warrant developing it into a short story.
Interesting.
I would be interested in getting the responses of Junior and her ex-husband to her death.
I'm not sure the ex is still alive.
With so few possessions, would she have left a will?
Who knows what she tucked away for a rainy day?
Would her son, husband, and maybe sister fight over the trailer home and her few treasures?
I suppose that would depend on how well they did.
Hope this is helpful.
It's certainly food for thought. Many thanks.

RG.

[David Callin]

I think this is great, Rich. Lots of very effective and telling detail. If it's all completely out of your head, that would be very impressive. It feels real and true to me. Drawn from life?

Cheers

David

[Richard G]

Hi David.

Drawn from life?
The character is 'loosely based on ...' but most of the details are invented. It started out from a first line prompt.

RG.

[Alex Pepple]

Hello, Richard,

This is a well-realized narrative—confidently paced, rich with detail, and carrying real emotional weight. There’s a clarity of voice and a lived-in authenticity that make it compelling from start to finish.

Just a couple of minor notes:

• p.i. should have a second period (p.i.) to follow standard abbreviation conventions.
       
• The capitalization of Summer initially threw me—I momentarily read it as a person’s name. Since seasons aren’t typically capitalized in standard usage, you might consider lowercasing it unless you're aiming for a metaphorical effect.
       
• Also, the phrase "when summer outstayed its welcome" gave me pause. Usually, people are more likely to complain about winter dragging on, while summer is often something they wish would linger. You might consider whether winter—or perhaps another metaphor—would better suit the tone of that moment.

Otherwise, very well done, Richard!

Cheers,
...Alex

[Richard G]

Hi Alex.

p.i. should have a second period (p.i.)
Yes, that seems to have dissipated somewhere. Thanks.

you might consider lowercasing it
Done.

would better suit the tone of that moment.
I like it's contrariness. It suits her. Also, perhaps the heat becomes oppressive and she just want a cool breeze.

Otherwise, very well done,
Thank you.

RG

[David Callin]

Glad Alex brought this one to the fore again. It deserves it.

David