Squabble

Up from clamor of Thanksgiving dinner, two voices drowned out the rest. Uncle Frank (Mom's brother) and Uncle Norm (Dad's brother), were at first pointedly not talking towards each other as they contradicted everything the other said. Then it was raised voices, direct, insistent, until they were shouting over everyone, ignoring their wives' pleas.

Then the fighting really began, first with silverware, then a carving knife versus a brass candlestick, then gunfire and light artillery. By this time, the two halves of the family had divided.

There would be no more Thanksgiving dinners until after the war was long over.

Horrors Of War

Innocent civilians taken hostage. Families plead for their loved ones' safe return, helpless and fearing the worst outcome. All they can do is weep and wait.

Pictures of children shown on the news, unaware of the outside world, scared, frightened, and huddled together unable to sleep, wanting their parents to save them and not knowing why they’re separated.

Countries gather to create foundations to help those in need. How long will it last?

Shootings and chaos surround streets, and gunfire echoes in the air. People bellow and search for safety, unable to find it.

These are the horrors of war.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Battlefield

The bombs come at us in droves, the sound deafening. I run across the field dodging bullets and falling bodies, the few men alive still in agonizing pain. Our trench is ahead, and I just need to get there.

Another round of gunfire and screams echoing across the battlefield. My heart pounds heavily and I find it difficult to breathe.

A bullet knocks my helmet off and I’m unprotected.

Someone yells cease fire, grabs my arm, and throws me to the ground. The gunfire has stopped but we’re crawling.

A few feet and we make it safely across.

For now.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Escape Route

Nadia rushes through the streets. Gunfire and bombs go off in the near distance and people are scrambling, and screaming, knocking into her while sweat drips down the nape of her neck. Her breath is shallow from the heat and clouds of black smoke fill the air. She uses her sleeve to cover her face from breathing in the toxic fumes, but she coughs heavily. She prays her husband is safe, but she hasn’t heard a word since he left to fight for their country.

She reaches the bridge.

A bomb explodes creating darkness and the bridge collapses beneath her.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Great War

The gunfire in the near distance didn’t faze me after ten months of war. I had a job to do and with few hours of sleep and lack of food, the lieutenant couldn’t believe my energy. The truth was, I hid my exhaustion because the men needed my surgical skills.

I operated on an eighteen-year-old boy who took two bullets to the leg. By the time he came to me, it was too late. I had to remove it, or he’d die.

The captain said ‘The Great War' would end soon.

I wished I believed him as another casualty arrived.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Mike The Bike Messenger

As a bike messenger, getting hit by a car was a badge of honor. Mike would brag about his accidents to his peers and use them as anecdotes, along with his scars, to pick up women.

But his new job was too dangerous even for his hazardous taste. He didn't care for the gunfire, and he especially didn't like the IED’s. He should have stayed in New York rather than join the war effort in Iraq.

Still, getting ambushed and losing both of his legs in combat made for an impressive story, as did winning the Congressional Medal of Honor.

The Samba

Juan Felipe surveyed the room. He knew the moment the radio plug went silent that his cover was blown. All eyes turned. Even as he sashayed to the music, he scrutinized those eyes, looking for an escape.

He would have preferred the merengue. He'd have used his partner to shield him from gunfire. Instead, he waited for the music to reach a crescendo, and then as his knees dipped, dropped to all fours and slunk across the floor towards the exit.

Later, as he waited for the interrogation, he wished he'd taken lessons rather than learning to dance reading Wikipedia.

The Daily Theme from Figment for Jan. 13, 2012(Because today’s theme hasn't arrived yet.)

Dance break: Narrate a character’s thoughts while he or she is in the midst of some serious dancing. (The character can be the most reluctant hoofer ever or Balanchine himself, but in this moment, this guy is getting down.)