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Are they not still your brothers through our blood?

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Competition Entry: Microfiction

Author's Notes

"The title is the last line of "Sick Leave" by Siegfried Sassoon, one of the great WWI poems. Like Sandy2Moon the picture for the competition made me think immediately of the poppy fields of Flanders."

As the guns fell silent, she slid her knickers down and sat astride me, grinding back and forth. Lost in the euphoria of a world no longer struggling to survive. In the exhileration of new opportunities, of making every minute count. Living without regret, knowing old loves end, but new ones will be found.

On the eleventh hour she slid down my length, both lost in the ecstasy of each other. Not fucking in fear we might be next to fall; we made love in peace. Taking our time, enjoying every kiss, every touch, building together, reaching paradise as one.

Published 
Written by kiteares
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