t1cklef4rt
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“I said ‘up’. You will listen when I speak, yes?” He turns to face me, letting go of my jacket as he stares into my eyes, telling more than he says.
“Yes.” I reply, voice fading with the dove, still laying in an uncovered hole.
“Yes what?” he sneers, like a hyena closing in on its prey.
“Sir. Yes, sir.” The words come with a whisper. With a final push, the hyena closes in, seizing the prey, feasting on the validation.
“Good.” He grins. A sick, overly sweet grin on his face, an evil face, a rotten apple on the family tree. My blood is his.--
a historical fiction I wrote for my english class about 2 gay soldiers in the battle of Narvik