They sat there on the front porch, by the fire, slowly sipping their whiskey, reminiscing about a starry night just like this, quite a long ago that now it seemed like another lifetime. They were young and brave and full of life and were not prepared to die.
They strummed and hummed to calm themselves down, while they could hear distance sounds of drums. Though they didn’t admitted it then but were not afraid to say it now that the sounds of drums and bugle call almost made them cry. As that night went by, every minute, every hour felt like a day. With every passing moment they could hear the sounds of guns and roar of canon, approaching closer that it made them cry out of fear.
But then something stirred within they. They were so afraid that couldn’t be afraid anymore. They realised why they joined the fight, for liberty, for freedom. There was something in the air that night, the stars shone so bright, as if they shone brightly for them, as they fought valiantly, fought bravely, filling them with a sense that they could not lose, they didn’t have any regrets.
Now they were old and grey and its been many years since they held a rifle in their hand. But they could still hear the beating of the drums, the bugle call, the roaring of the guns and the booming of the canons as they crossed the river grand. They could see the pride in each other’s eye as they fought for freedom of this land.
And through it all they found each other, a life in each other, a companion in each other, but they still longed for that life that now seemed to have passed them by. They longed for action, for purpose in their mundane lives. If they had to do the same again, they would without any hesitation or fear, they would fight for freedom for the lands.
And as they reminisced about that starry night, so long ago, they fell to sleep on that porch, before that burning fire, but holding each other’s hand.
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