She understood that the price of freedom was eternal vigilance, but already she was weary. Would she survive the war or welcome the sweet escape that death would bring?

Her final preparations for battle were interrupted by a loud announcement from immediately in front of her: “You may kiss the bride” the voice said.

Lady Liberty asked the man, “Do you love me?”
His silence said he did.
“I love you as well. You are my child. I will always feel your love in my tears and when I smile.”
She draped a red, white, and blue blanket over him. It was the only warmth she could offer him.

Mine here.

Under this field, his young friends lay asleep. At peace now, lit only by the stars, without the eerie death glow of guns and bombs. He pulled up handfulls of grass – never mind the annual contrition of war memorials. The earth better remembers you, in a million wildflowers, in rolling grassy hills, in mighty oaks.

She spent a few minutes shining the buttons on the jacket, imagining the warmth of his laughter fill the empty room. He needed to look his best today as he wore his uniform to his final resting place. She was going to stand proud and embrace the memories he left. He was a hero at 21. He was her son and he gave his life for freedom.

He sank to his knees, and held himself, rocking back and forth. He heard bullets whizzing past, smelled the metallic odor of blood. He squeezed his eyes shut and wished he could be anywhere else on earth but here.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll help you walk to the wall.”

(Anna! You must be so proud of your sister! :))

My first attempt at the 55Friday here

He had lost everything in the long war - his youth, his dignity, even his ... manhood. Still, he considered himself lucky to have escaped, no matter the cost.

He lay in his threadbare bed in the cheap hotel, clutching his divorce papers to his chest and vowing to never again marry a Punjabi woman.

When we were in high school, there was this Metallica video, for the song “One”, that used to play on Headbanger’s Ball. It used to give me the chills—to the core-- and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. After Erich came back from Desert Storm, I understood why. And more so.

He shamed his parents by enlisting at 17, a desi child of two doctors. Nobody could understand why. “War is hell!” they warned him. In his head, he silently replied “Hell is watching my parents fight every night. Nothing could be worse.” He went off to basic training with a smile on his face.

He could taste the saline grime on his lips; it was hot, or was it just adrenaline? Didn’t matter, he was in the infantry and his brothers were with him. A grenade comes through the window presenting the only option: jump and fall on it.

It all ends. Everyone is debriefed and training continues. Hooah!

“…remember those who sacrificed, so we could be free” said the principal over the PA.

Iraj lowered his head, acutely aware that his classmates thought of soldiers, guns, and tanks. But, he only thought of Grandmother, who died almost two years ago, before his family fled.

Not everyone who dies in war is a soldier.

I could see the flag, torn but fluttering proudly.

This day is ours.

The flawless blue sky above me arched to infinity; but as I lay there, all I could see was the face of my beloved.

With the name of the Almighty on my lips, the blazing sun beckoned, the brilliance finally engulfing me.

Memoir-style 55-word lit:

How do you say thank you?

The other day, I sat on the old green couch and watched a documentary about Doris Day. "Sentimental journey meant a lot to the guys," she says. Black and white images of men, marching in rows, face after face after face after face.

How do you say thank you?

*And thank you to the women, too.

Hmm, you'd think after the whole post being about the difference between Veterans day and Memorial Day, I'd do something more appropriate.

"Where are you going?"

"I can't say, ma'am." He is apologetic.

"Oh. Isn't it dangerous?"

He shrugs. He looks young. His face is handsome, in the way the young are handsome. I like that he is polite: who ever called me ma'am?

We talk about his family after that, the fathers and uncles who served.

We are in the midst of traveling. A line of people wait. Two men in uniform stand, waiting with the others. Discreetly, we look. Coming home or going abroad? One is young and anxious, the other is older, tanned and radiates ease. We'd like to signal our thanks, but we are shy.

A Soldier Forgotten

Quietly sitting next to Debbie and Rita at the Hot Rod Bar in College Station, Texas, “Did you see Cadet Harry? He is so hot and calls me Maam.”

I just can’t anymore. I quietly limp to the nearest strip club a mile away.

“Was it 1967? Hey, you got girlfriend Vietnam? Me so horny.”

Framed for life
So weeps his wife
The long stemmed rose
Makes her feel morose
As she thinks just why
He had to die

A piece of land
Money wants at hand
Calls him to duty
But that aint no beauty
Coz nothing can calm
There aint no balm
Which can heal the scar
Of a dear Afar.

Here's a lame effort.

Mine is here.

Challenging theme as well as a challenging occupation.

He peered over his makeshift bunker; even relatively calm days of combat in the country’s capital were never pleasant.

Suddenly, he heard a familiar whizzing sound.

A few seconds later, he reached out, gurgling, to the blur in front of him, “Help…”

The boy standing above him stared back in icy silence, counting the seconds.

“Mangat Chacha, chai”, Seema announced.

Mangat could still smell the burnt skin after 16 years.

Through grenade smoke he saw body of Kartar. He remembered their promise – “Our girls will always have a father”.

Just as Mangat smeared Kartar’s blood all over him and played dead, he heard voices above “Let’s go sahib, rebels are died”.

My 55. This is such a cool idea!
She was enamoured by the idea of being married to a servant of the nation, one with ideals, a desire for change, and most importantly, solutions. He was never around; she understood. She tolerated his reticence and absentmindedness at home, comforting herself with the hope that she had sacrificed her life for her country’s sake.

When he sensed the unsaid words hanging in the air like a noisome fog between them, he knew that it was over.

He remembered the time when she jumped out of the train clutching her little nightbag, smiling, like a pre-Valentine chocolate advertisement in the crisp, clear, dewy bright morning — now irrevocably in the past.

He looked down for one more time. From ten thousand feet high, the city looked shrunk - the narrow alleys disappeared and the calmness had taken over - it was almost like the city was abandoned, or he would have liked to believe that. The screen flashed in front of him - target locked. His trembling hands reached the deployment lever. The plane shook a little as the heavy weapon unleashed into the sky. He remembered the previous evening - walking through the market, giving candies to the children - who among them would be dead now - his heart wept. He stared into the empty sky while the noises in the headset seemed cryptic. But, soon, the same cryptic voices seemed to make sense - he followed the parade of planes ahead of him.

duh! I suppose i missed the whole point about '55' words. Pls. delete my entry..

The saint gazed down from the fortress, the evening sunlight glinting off the polished steel chakra around his turban. He could see Jujhar clearly, the youth standing alone, sword drawn, fearlessly facing the massed phalanx of soldiers.

A single man will challenge 125,000.....

Return Home, my son. Your grandfather and elder brother await you there.

The warriors encircled the walled city. They called this land Dakkan, meaning “Right Hand” in their language; the name hinting at their long migration from the north-west.

In his chariot, their blue-eyed king refined his strategy. One day he would be called “Breaker of Forts”, God of Rain, in songs still unsung, scriptures still unwritten.

jai singh...loved post 27. you're a phenomenal 55 writer.

najeeb, i'm not deleting it. i liked it. :) feel free to write a 55 if you feel like you didn't fulfill the assignment properly. ;)

jai singh- you slay me. swoon.

Nalwa! Nalwa!

The pathans looked upon the fort’s ramparts. The clashing of swords silenced, replaced by astonished voices proclaiming the name of their enemy’s feared general.

The general, dying, watched as the pathans fled on his emergence. When death finally consumed him, his still standing and lifeless body bore instant tribute to his magnificent legend.

Thekingsingh -- Epic, poetic stuff, buddy ;)

Sikhgirl & Anna -- Thank you so much for the feedback and your kind words - greatly appreciated as always. A few more 55's from me follow below.....

I stood on the hill next to the Emperor, our troops arranged in disciplined formation. We could already see the barbarians in the forest ahead, chaotic, armed with primitive weaponry.

“For the glory of Rome”, we were told.....

Surely ‘honour’ means more than this, I thought, as I gave the order to start the bombardment.

The Rana slashed with his khanda, swathed in the saffron robes of martyrdom like the tens of thousands of Rajputs fighting alongside him; the opium fuelling their ferocity against the Sultan’s army.

Padmini must have commited jauhar by now, he thought, the grief overpowering.

All this, because of a momentary glimpse of my wife’s reflection.....

Jai - thanks man, just following your lead :)

Indians in the service of the American
Empire

Thats something I didn't know about

General Sayyid Beg stared back at him, face to face at last; a living saint in the garb of a soldier, a Guru with the bearing of a king.

This jihad is an abomination.....

The battle thundered around them.

No more hypocrisy.....

Committing his fate to the will of Allah, he swung his horse around.

Prithviraj felt his heart gradually failing, the wreckage of their armies symbolising the ashes of the alliance; the Sons of Princes defeated by betrayal.

Women, gold, land.....That is all these fanatics care about, cloaked in the guise of religion.....

Bitterly, he remembered Mahmud’s capture last year, released on the promise of never returning. More lies.....

Nice writing!