IT

What to write about when I don't have anything to write about?  It's a rainy Sunday afternoon and I have the need to write.  There is something inside me that wants to come out, but I can't find it.  My writers plumbing is blocked. I feel as if I will explode if I don't express it.  It is like an itch I can't scratch.  I am anxious and stressed over it.

I find myself wondering if other writers ever have an it.  I don't even know what it is.  Is it an emotion or something more tangible; like a subject that I need to write about?  Just thinking about it makes me feel worse.  I am growing angry and frustrated with it.  Why don't you come out and show yourself!  Are you a coward?  Afraid to be exposed to the written word.

Okay, that's it.  I've had it!  As far as I'm concerned it can take a flying leap. This is the last time I'm ever going to write about it

.  I'm going over to a friends house and eat tacos.  .
Kim Warren  

REMEMBER THE FALLEN

I didn’t see where the burst of fire came from.  Instinctively I dove off the left side of the trail into the tall grass for a better firing position.  I eased over to the edge of the trail to try and get a look just as another burst raked past me kicking up dirt and smacking the thick grass over my head.   My buddy, who had been walking about 5 yards in front of me, was lying on the trail.  He was lying on his side facing me with his hands against his chest.  I could see blood oozing out between his fingers.  Charlie started dropping 60’s on us and kept raking the trail with bursts of fire.  Between bursts, I could hear my buddy gurgling as we made eye contact and he stuck out a bloody hand toward me.  His eyes were glazed with fear, but he didn’t make a sound, except to gurgle.  I eased my way through the grass as close to the trail as I dared until I was opposite my buddy.  A 60 landed close enough to ring my ears and shower us with dirt.  The machinegun fire seemed to have moved further up the trail so I stuck my arm out and grabbed his hand.  His grip was so tight it hurt and scared me a little.  I braced myself and started to pull him off the trail.  The movement caught Charlie’s attention and a string of bullets walked down the trail right over my buddy, who twitched a couple of times and went limp, his now empty eyes stayed fixed on me.
Gunships roared overhead and blasted Charlie’s position.  Then everything went silent except for the whomp-whomp-whomp of the gunship rotors as they looked for Charlie.  I heard someone screaming medic-medic.  Doc came running up the trail bent over as low as he could and dropped down beside my buddy.  Only then did I realize I was the one yelling medic.  Doc worked on him for a couple of minutes then looked at me and shook his head.  My buddy was gone.
The medic asked if I were okay and I told him yeah, just a little shaken up.  Doc said, “Your arm is bloody.  Let me look at it.”  I had taken a round across my forearm without realizing it.
I hadn’t seen the enemy or fired a shot; just held a buddies hand while Charlie wasted him.  For this action, I got the Purple Heart and my buddy got a body bag.
This is a work of historical fiction I wrote in honor of Memorial Day.

Marshall Kimbrough-Warren

JACKIE

I went bear hunting with Jackie this morning.  It was a nice morning here in southeast Alaska, clear and cool, 30 degrees.  I've known Jackie since, oh, about 1971.  He has always been one of the bright spots in my life, he and his brother Ronnie.
We crept through the woods together like we always did.  Both of us love hunting and the outdoors.  Jackie and I were both paratroopers in the 1960's, so that was another bond we shared.  As the morning wore on it became obvious there were no bears around, so we got to talking about the old days, reminding each other of the adventures we had together.  You know how that goes.
I said, "Remember when you got your new ski boat?  A bunch of us were sitting on the front deck of our lake home and you came roaring by standing in the windshield opening trying to look regal.  Just as you got in front of our house the outboard quit and you went sailing over the bow of the boat into the lake.  I'd never seen a boat stop so fast.  We all said, yep, that's Jackie."
Jackie came back with, "Remember the time you almost killed me when you tried to pull me up while I was wearing that surplus parachute?"  "Boy, did I," I said,  "It scared me half to death.  I had the jet boat backed up to our retaining wall and you were standing in the yard with Ronnie and Davey holding the parachute open.   By the time you got over the water you were straight up over me the length of the ski rope.  Then you did a full loop and crashed head first into the lake so hard it tore the life jacket off you."
"I gotta tell ya though, my favorite story is when you and Sue got married.  After the reception y'all launched your boat and brought it around to our house and tied it to the retaining wall, then boogied up to our guest house for your first night of wedded bliss.  The next morning when I went outside I couldn't find your boat.  Then I saw a rope tied to the wall and disappearing under water.  In your haste you had forgotten to put the drain plug in the boat and it had sunk."
We continued to reminisce about our motorcycle trips, squirrel hunts, and practical jokes he and Ronnie were always pulling off.  I reminded him of the time he, Ronnie, Davey and I went to another friend.s house for something, but no one was home.  We went in to leave him a note and there was his wife's cat.  Now this cat was like  a child to her.  Ronnie saw their camera on the coffee table, so he picked it up and told Jackie to throw the fat cat up in the air.  At the apex of the cat's terrified flight Ronnie took a picture of it and put the camera back where it had been.  When our friends wife had the film developed she was furious.  Of course, we were mortified that anyone would do such a thing to her beloved cat and extended our deepest sympathies.
Jackie and Ronnie and I could go on forever,  but we were back at my pickup so I mentally told them I'd see them later.  Though I haven't seen either of them in 37 years and Jackie has been dead a long time, I still love spending time with them
Their friend always,  Kim Warren