The Third Day (!ST Page)

The first page of my new novel I’m working on “The Third Day”

Vlad was lying in the rubble of a bombed out building amid the chunks of concrete and twisted steel. The bombed out buildings look like tattered paper, their facades ripped off and their interiors exposed, furniture still inside and the rooms look strangely like doll houses, blocks of concrete with steel sticking out of them twisted into abstract sculptures of war. Bricks and concrete pour into the streets like frozen streams. The color of war is all grays, black and whites, war bleeds away the color out of life.

He wasn’t trying to blend into the rubble so much as to become part of the rubble. His rifle jutted out in front of him looking like nothing more than an errant piece of pipe. His face was caked in the dust his lips were parched and cracked “Pfft”. He spat out some concrete dust as soundlessly as he could. He lowered his head back to the sights of his rifle. If someone spotted him up here they’d send a patrol to flush him out, or even more simply aim and fire a rocket launcher toppling what was left of this building. The sky was starting to lighten to a robin‘s eggshell blue. He could hear the twitterings of the first birds of morning, the sound of the birds, the last remnant of when life had been normal. Vlad saw a mangy looking dog sauntering down the street, stopping occasionally to forage in the rubble, suddenly the peaceful morning is shattered by the first gunfire of the day, the dog’s head snaps up his looking in the direction of the gunfire, his ears perked up, at the sound of the next volley of gunfire the dog scampers off, no more of the birds would be heard either leaving not silence, but an eerie emptiness.

This was the third morning he was lying in wait, the third morning without sleep, the third morning without eating, the third morning without a cigarette, the third morning without his wife, his daughter. And the third morning of going over the events that brought him here to kill his best friend, his life had become an act of remembering.

 

Way more to come…!

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