Exceptional This is a true story. August of 1969 by Regina Elliott This Sentence Starts The Story contest entry Artwork by Susan F. M. T. at FanArtReview.com

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.     The house was empty. That was until my mother and I came back from the supermarket with cleaning supplies for our family's moving out. When we spoke, our voices seemed to bounce off the walls of the small rental home. It was a hot and humid August day of 1969 in the town of Massapequa, N.Y. I had turned thirteen years old that summer.       My mother went into the bathroom to clean the toilet and shower. She was just a little out of sight. The Archie's hit song, "Sugar, Sugar," was on the transistor radio. Yet, I felt a sadness, a heaviness thicker than the humidity, in my heart. It was like a thorny vine tightening around it.       I began to hear my mother, a strong woman, weeping. I heard her flip-flops snapping as she walked into my view. Her golden beehive had become disheveled under her Paisley kerchief. Her eyes were bloodshot, streaming tears. She could barely speak, but I already knew what our sadness was. She said, "Our soldiers, our soldiers so young, getting shot, dying!"     We embraced, weeping- as the English sparrows trilled and squirrels playfully chased each other in the suburban yards. The neighborhood was so quiet that day. It was the closeness, the union of our grief. News photos of youthful U.S. soldiers were in my vision. They should have been going out on dates, tossing a football, running into the surf. They shouldn't have been in the  shocking chaos of the Vietnam War, in the steaming foliage, Agent Orange, the constant spectre of death.      American flag-draped caskets keep coming off of the planes, stop it, stop it! Since when is war something to celebrate?! Jesus, my Jesus, the human toll of war sorrows Your loving heart, and ours too.       I haven't seen my 90 year old mother in over 30 years, as sometimes families scatter. But, I'll never forget, Mom, that August of 1969 day.           Recognized Author Notes Although we're estranged, Mom, I still love you, and the sorrow of the Vietnam War still haunts, and I'll never forget that August day of 1969. ~

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