On the Warpath

                               Grandpa sat close to the hearth, a quilt draped over his knees. His wire-rimmed spectacles reflected the firelight.

        “Tell us about the Injun war, Grandpa,” little Abe said. “When they burned the fort.”

        Despite the warmth, Grandpa shivered. He couldn’t remember what he’d eaten today, but memories of that night of terror were as clear as the ice on the water bucket.

        “It was a freezing night when the natives took up arms,” he said.

        “Like tonight?”

        Grandpa coughed and spat into the fire. “Deerfield woke to screams at dawn.”

        “What did you do?”

        “I was a boy. I cried.”

Let’s read more flash fiction:

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