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Eyes in the Dark Vol 6 Edition 5

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Middle-Aged Wife
Mother Goddess

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by invisible man
 They built a Wal-Mart at the PX in Bosnia with eight-foot-wide isles, all primary colors and industrial design, a box in the mud packed full and sinking.  And we come and we march through in our camos and gear, strutting and cocking and drilling and spinning wildly, out of control.  Geese to the rows, flapping and pecking for fallen breadcrumbs.
 The corporal turns and looks down the tunnel of an M-16.  Bill's.  The pudding cup he was holding hovers in the air, suspended by sheer force of will.  "Yeah when I was in Guatamala," Bill says, "I'd take a two-day pass and turn it into a full-bore bender.  Blow a month's pay on booze, drugs, women.  They've got 14-year olds there.  Whatever you want.  It's too cold here.  Too cold."
 At the checkout line, the corporal picks up a paperback without looking at the cover and runs his gloved fingers over the raised letters of the title, each contact with a ridge sending charges of distance through him, the fresh revelation of each shape drawing him further on, but he places the book back on the conveyor belt before reaching the last letter, the incomplete title still hanging in the air.  You've got to leave some mysteries unsolved, after all.

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