Nighthawking

The soldier shook his head solemn, an obelisk his silhouette. The long lists of names initialed. Youths with their crowbars hovered in a semicircle before the gates. They had been scouting the place for days. Shadowed eyes rising to the rifle held tight in two grey fists and falling again to the shape laid out on the retreating grass, the spot where the bullet found him a cave.

 He the only sentry. There would be no relief or reinforcement here. Rounds but enough for another four. One tried to put a hand on the lock but he pushed them back with the gun’s bore, his finger grazing the trigger.

 The kids knew not that this tomb for the unknown held no bodies, no valuables, no powerful remains with which to play. They would likely leave if they were told. It was but the principle of it. The soldier reached behind him, to draw his bayonet.

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