The old men of the village had their eyes firmly focused on politics again. And the economy. And property values. And sports. But not their wives; their wives were safe at home now–safe and unlooked on. The candlelit dinners and music, the awkward dancing and even more awkward reading of poetry had stopped when the young men left. No need for it anymore. Yes, the old leaders of the village no longer had to watch their spouses like hawks–even though they sat at home all day, bored. So, though there was a war going on, the elders were all noticeably calmer than during peacetime and the council meeting had a relaxed air to it.
“To our brave fighting men…” said the leader with a grin, thinking it strange to call children men.
“Yes! Hear Hear!” The others chimed in, with the same oldmen grin.
“Of course, the mission is far from over–”
“RIGHT!” They yelled, too excited to contain themselves.
“The surrounding villages have, for far too long, displayed their chauvinism and continue to display it…such displays will be met with force.” The leader proclaimed, “We will defend our homeland!”
“YES!”
“For AS LONG as it takes!”
The room
almost
exploded with
applause. The leader’s
wife almost
exploded with screamsThe room almost exploded with applause. The leader’s wife almost exploded with screams–”alone” in her house, almost a mile away.
“Holy Shit!” she gasped, as her and the young soldier laid in bed, both sweaty and out of breath. She laughed, “How old are you again?”.
“Twenty-three”, the soldier said, still huffing. “And you?’
She flicked his ear with her pointer finger and laughed, “I’m eighteen–”
“No, no,” he insisted, getting serious. “I know the difference between a woman and a girl–you’re a woman…” (she was indeed)
“I don’t exactly know how to take that, but thank you.” She rubbed her hand through the deserter’s hair. “We should get dressed, the meeting will be over soon.” 
His uniform was crumpled in a ball on the floor, part of a big pile that contained both their clothes. On top sat his medals, nearly a dozen of them–the village council seemed to make a new one every week. As the fugitive lovers regained their composure, he stared at each shiny medal, at each “battle” they represented and remebered all their names: During the ‘Battle of Northside’ he had been with Martha, during the ‘Siege at Cherrville’ it had been Jennifer, when they’d stormed Leertown, he’d stormed Margarette and Joan. But none of those excursions had even come close to what he felt today. Since enlisting, He’d been with the wife of every leader of every village in this war, but never with the leader of his own.
“No. Please? Let’s just lay here for a few more minutes,” he pleaded.
She laughed. “Don’t be so romantic, if they find any of you here this time, they’ll probably declare war on the moon: A fittingly far place.”
“Are there any women there?”
“Slut!” she grinned, as she got up.
So did her husband. And standing in front of the elders, he tried to wipe the smile off his face and display something akin to empathy. “But let’s not forget,” he declared slowly. “That many of our young men have died in this war and, um, unfortunately, many more will probably have to die.” Some of the crowd’s eyes lit up and he forced himself to ignore it. “So, now let’s now have a moment of silence in their honor.”
The room, reluctantly, got quiet. For a moment they all stood just listening to their own breath. But one old man sitting in the back could swear, was sure, was damn near certain that in the silence he heard feminine screams coming from within the village. He thought about saying something for aDmoment, but then let it pass; he was just hearing things. There were no such screams anymore, he assured himself, not since the war.
Have you considered Subscribing to all of this madness?
