Wars Far Away

Wars Far Away

He didn’t know much, but he knew he was a good guy. He knew there was a war going on, too. Far away. He didn’t know much about it, but he knew the enemy was evil. That’s what his government said, so that was the way it was. He didn’t care much, really. It wasn’t his problem.

Years went by. He liked watching TV. Sometimes the news came on, and sometimes he watched them. He liked the short ones, the ones between the shows. The longer ones on the boring channels seemed to disagree with him anyway, so he used to avoid them. The entertainment channel had better news anyway, short and direct. They showed things as they really were, as he wanted to see them, but they said the war had grown bigger.

He didn’t like that.

There were elections again, and he voted for the same party he always had. Only an idiot would change now, in the middle of a war and everything. His government wasn’t to blame for it, the invasion had been for the greater good. The enemy was evil.

The news kept talking about unpleasant things in other parts of the world. He didn’t want to watch them any more, he was happier not knowing what was happening. He usually changed the channel when the news came on.

They said the war was coming closer.

One day there was no TV. He didn’t know why. He didn’t like it. Soon he saw dark smoke in a distance. It came from town, where his children had moved when they moved out. Where his friends lived. Something was moving on the other side of the big fields by his house. Cars. They were coming.

He went out with his hands above his head. There was nothing he could do but surrender. A big gun was attached to the roof of one of the cars. He could see a man behind it. The man pointed the gun straight at him and fired.

The war wasn’t far away any more.



The Old Man who Knew

The Ghost of Dusterville

The Ghost of LasservilleThe fog lay dense over the little village. There was no one in the streets. Silence.

Something moved between the houses. Something dark. Something evil. A scream was heard.

People came running out of their houses. Down the road. A ghost, they said. There was a ghost right here.

The next night the ghost was seen again. This time several people saw it. What do you want? They asked.

Bllooooodddd…. Answered the ghost and disappeared.

The ghost wants blood! We need to get it blood, Or else we will all be doomed!

They got a goat, brought it to the village square. The ghost didn’t appear.

This is stupid, said Ronald the blacksmith. Ghosts doesn’t exist.

But we’ve seen it! We’ve seen it!

It’s probably someone who wants to fool you, said Ronald.

You are so closed minded, said Hans the farmer.

You never believe in anything. Said the stable boy.

Whatever, said Ronald. I’m going home.

Look! There it is! The ghost appeared between the houses. First it could hardly be seen, but slowly it materialized. Then it disappeared.

You see? You see?

Ronald left.

The goat was sacrificed.

The ghost stood there, watching them in all it’s evilness.

I don’t wwwwaaaant goat’s blood, you stuuuuupiiiiidddd villagers…

The tailor fell to his knees. But what do you want? Tell us, please don’t harm us!

The ghost rose a bony hand. It pointed. At Rebecca.

He wants Rebecca! Said the shoemaker. Rebecca looked at the others. She didn’t want to die, but she didn’t want the wrath of the ghost upon the villagers either. She cried.

Tomorrroooowwww…. The ghost disappeared.

The next day the villagers had gathered on the square. They had brought the young girl for the sacrifice. The ghost appeared.

Rebecca was pulled out. She was crying. The Tailor had a big knife in his hand.

Oh, ghost! We give you this sacrifice to…

Ronald came running out from behind the ghost. He had a spade in his hand. The ghost turned around, but to slow. He hit it in the head. It fell to the ground. Lifted it’s arms to defend itself. Ronald lifted the spade again.

No! No, please don’t kill me!

Kill it..? Said the stable boy. Aren’t ghosts already dead?

Ronald pulled the filthy cloth off it. On the ground lied the tailor’s son.

What the… People looked from the boy to the tailor and back to the boy.

Rebecca ripped loose. But Peter! Why,…?

I hate you. I always hated you. I wanted you dead.

The tailor stood there, said nothing. He felt rather stupid. Everybody did.

Good thing we didn’t kill her, then, said the stable boy after a while.



Prophetic Poetry