the little bullet

His father was a battleship, his mother a svelt 66mm rocket. Life was
excellent when he was young. His father enrolled him into 5:56mm
school. He would dream of one day going to 7:62mm and then even to
50calibre on his own.

Then war broke out, "it’s natural" mum and dad would say, "now off to your magazine sluggo" they would joke.

But it was serious, he knew. Dad was always getting around with a full
head of steam, mum was always primed and beeping. He tried to ignore it
feigning innocence. He just play soldiers all day.

One night mum found him crying. "What’s the matter little
bullet?"  "nothing mum" he said, "I was crying because one of my
soldiers died."  "Now there" she said softly, "It’s not real, he
can die again tomorrow". Whilst hugging him and wiping a tear.

"We must win tomorrow" he said. He went to sleep eventually with
visions of great battles, always all of his soldiers died, but in this
tragedy was victory and glory forever.


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