Torrid Times

Torrid Times . . .



We live in some torrid times. It happens every thirty years or so, when those that Govern stop listening. Wars break out, soldiers die and people start to lose hope. I remember the last time was in sixty-eight and it was a horrid time. Another war was playing on the wires and the body counts kept coming in. I was too young to fight, too young to die.



And the chopper blades blared in the background as a reporter tried to keep from dying on national T.V. Dark rubber bags bulging under the weight as they loaded them onto transport decks. And no one told us, we knew, it was one of ours . . . One of the Brave Few.



Today, I’m much older and the body counts keep coming in. Now, I’m too old to fight, too old to die by the sword, and it doesn’t stop the killing, the dying or the pain.



Dan Hanosh

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