I Could Live For Freedom Most Days

Posted: August 5, 2014 in Uncategorized

The turkey turned, whole, sweating with juice and seasoning on the stick. The entire camp stared at it the way one would stare at a most beautiful woman, or a pile of gold. It was painful, torturous to watch the slowly cooked bird as stomachs bubbled acid like an expectorate volcano. A few of the men, weaker in will, wanted to leap up and shout “Enough,” tearing flesh from the bird with teeth and sating the painful hunger. The captain watched carefully, tapping the flat of his saber against the sole of his boot, for such a crazed look in his men’s eyes, to find the ones that he would not be able to rely on in the most trying of circumstances. He’d singled out a handful of privates and to his great displeasure and disappointment, a sergeant. The company cook, his arm tired and his mouth watering, ceased to turn the bird. The camp fell silent after the collective inhale of excitement. Turning slowly to the cook, the captain rotated his shoulder in a circle. Keep spinning. I’m not done yet. And damn it, neither is that succulent turkey.

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