 |
|
|
Harry Comes Home
a short-short story
by Steve Anderson
(c) 1992-2005,
Steve Anderson, www.Writer.SGAcreative.com
|
|
Alice was there at the dock when the ship came in, and she watched intently as the soldiers walked
down the plank, but it wasn't until all the rest of them had come off that the captain brought out her
Harry. Good old Harry, she thought, Always the last to leave.
All the others had been carrying
huge bags of stuff, but Harry came home with nothing but a little box. But that was all he needed.
He always had been a light packer, ever since childhood. He could pack everything he'd need for an entire
summer at camp in just his knapsack. He didn't need to carry all the bulk everyone else took with them.
He'd been on the front for almost the entire war, and now he was home. It was so good to see him,
Alice thought. It was so good to have him home.
She parked in the driveway and carried his box
into the house for him. He'd worked so hard for his country, the least she could do was to carry his
box for him. She took it to the kitchen and opened it. Then, instead of emptying it, she stopped and
looked at him.
He looked. . . different. The war had changed him. No matter. He was still
her husband, and she still loved him. Impulsively, she kissed him. The war really had changed him.
His face used to be so soft, she thought. I'm not so sure I like this grainy feel. No matter. He's
my Harry, and I love him.
"I love you, Harry," she whispered, and with that, she pulled out the
urn she'd bought that morning, transferred his ashes into it, and took it to the living room to put it
on the mantelpiece.
|
|
|
|