Sergeant Demarcus, Soldier

Something about an August sunset through freshly laid razor wire always makes Demarcus think of home. Those lazy evenings under the spreading oaks, full of roasted duck and belonging. All that changed when Rupert left for the wars. He'd taken everything that was warm and right with him. And he hadn't come back either. It had taken until January for the letter to arrive, but they’d known somehow, in August. They’d felt it. All the color just draining right out of summer. Demarcus will make them…

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