My Very First Memory
by Kyle Halverson

Hoarse as the furnace when it breathes, his little voice retreated into his throat. The spaghetti dinner sworn about the dinner table was to be carried into the wall with its plates. Shrunken beneath the stool he caged himself in, he ebbed the noise from his ears. A blade fell from the ceiling fan and shrieked to the tiles.
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Intelligence has warned us that the Red army is dangerously close. Regiments of our soldiers have been ordered to advance toward the perimeter and prepare for battle. Our commander has received news that the Queen herself will attend the mêlée. It has been days since any of us have stood on familiar ground, yet we are all anxious and ready for confrontation. It is what we have trained for, it is our duty. We are born to become soldiers.

I'm trying
to understand
your death,
that of a young man
in Ciudad Juarez

“Have you seen this?”

“What?”

“This…”

“Oh.”

“That is new.”

“Too.”

“Many ways to do that without any help from these people.”