The waves looked soft as he peered through tropical rain. The island was only a ragged outline. Crawling down the rope netting into a landing craft, he watched it grow closer, more distinct. It would be his first combat. Would he stand up to it? Was he brave as he thought—hoped? Somehow he knew he would survive, but what about the others? Weeks earlier, in the middle of the ocean, he’d looked through a light mist silvered by soft by moonlight and realized survival wasn’t enough. Seeing the guy next to him fall—that’s what made him sick.
2 Replies to “Sea Mist”
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Faith your story begins with a serenity, soft waves, and ends with a harsh reality. Survival is a double-edged sword to those who survive to see others die next to them.
Exactly Charli. This double-edged sword is at the core of the novel I’m just now sending out to a diversity reader. (Most of my characters are Native American or Mexican although the main character is a Nebraska farm boy.)