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Lost In The Years

Now I can tell about what happened. Now that they're all gone. And it so long now that it's all forgotten. Though sometimes I think I can hear their names on the wind. But only for a moment, and then it's gone.

When we were young, my brothers and I believed that the world would stand with us against injustice. But we were wrong. And our world was washed away because of it.

With the Czar gone, we came to New York for the promise it held out. But a Cossack can't kill a man here. Even one mourned by no one. Not even his mother.

Prison for the three of them, and the Army for me. I was much younger, so maybe they thought there was some innocence in me to be saved. Gassed in the trenches, and then a life with no voice. That was my penance in the end.

Now sometimes they call my name on the wind. From that next place. From across time, and all that's been lost in the years. My inevitable call to join them. Like me, they long to be together again. Soon enough, as I'm old now. First though, I'll find how to tell the story. So our sleep will be peaceful. And when I hear them call, I just say,"not yet!".

Story by:

John Drenga

john_drenga@yahoo.com

13 September 2013