It’s been a bloody day on the battlefield, you know this. You daren’t tell your platoon how bloody, in case they try another revolt. Everyone is drawn out, everyone is tired.
You look, through your helmet, at the sunset of another world. Your home world has a gentle red and orange sunset compared to the harsh blue of this world’s toxic sky.
You’re doing it for them, you think, as you see your children dance across the inside of your visor screen.
They’ll be free from the invasion, if you win here. If, being the operative word.
This flashfiction was first posted in 2019
Featured Image by Alice Hampson on Unsplash
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