“The Boots of War”
The boots cleaned and pristine stood on the kitchen floor. He was hugging his mother whom he loved so dearly Neither could muster a smile. Finally, she left go and saw him grab his pack. Unknown to both of them, he wouldn’t be coming back. A smear of train grease christened the boots as he hopped on. The train groaned and rolled away and soon the soldiers were gone. Getting off the train, salty sea hit the leather. The soldier talked to his troop, praying they would stay together. Jumping off the boat, the boots were hit with sand, blood and water. Most of the troops died fighting, used as cannon fodder. Mud and dirt covered the boots as fellow soldiers fell to the ground. The man heard seconds ago that the air was filled with rounds. The boots got stronger and stronger with every passing day stained with the blood of the soldiers that were carried away. The boots did their best to protect against the shrapnel, razor sharp bits, nails, wood and metal. Thinking of his mother made him feel happy and warm, nothing like his boots, cold and worn. The boots were patiently awaiting for the war to end, helping carry away the bodies of newly-made friends. Finally it was his turn on that dark day, the boots tracking through the mud, running into the fray. A quick pull of a trigger, a bullet went through his heart. His family, especially his mother, would be torn apart. On that day the boots were placed on the doorstep with that sad letter, Mother crying as she remembered when she and her son were together.