Cabral

Immediately after he was stripped of his chevrons, Cabral ripped off his shirt, stepped out of his pants, turned, and ran. He hurdled the low stone wall, graceful as he could manage. Moments later, shot at but only nicked on the hip, he lay face down in the coop surrounded by surprised hens and their bolder cocks. He crawled, stopped, caught his breath, inhaled the scent of shavings and other leavings. Not far away he heard the bleating of the small disparate herd. “Why,” he later almost told his captors, “Why didn’t I seek the goats? That’s where I belong.”

From Guest Contributor Clyde Liffey