A soldier sits under a tree planted near his headstone. Leaves and grass clippings litter the white sandstone. He writes on a piece of paper with a small, peaceful smile on his face. His uniform is as crisp and clean as the first day he put it on. A medal on his chest catches the sun and sends a beam of light into the sky.
I walk over silently and brush away the leaves and debris. "Thank you for your service," I whisper. I gently trace the letters on the stone. Tears come to my eyes. This soldier was a stranger to me, but was someone's son.
The soldier stood behind me and put a hand on my back "Your brother still loves you," he whispers.
I turn and look into the bluest eyes I had ever seen. "Do you have a message for someone?"
"I already delivered it," he stated with a smile. He disappeared without a trace.
(c) Jacqueline Weerts, March 23, 2012
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