Shadow of the Enemy

210-09-september-3rd-2017

The War is coming.

They feel it in their bones. The shops are shut. Windows are barred. Mothers hold their children close. The streets are empty. A lone newspaper flutters on the breeze, drifting between abandoned cars.

The War is coming.

There has been no announcement on the radio. There has been nothing on the television. The Internet is a haze of grey. Nobody talks about it. They simply know.

The War is coming.

The tanks come, and the soldiers with them. Rifles and helmets glint and clank as they move through empty streets. Darting eyes stare through boarded windows, watching them move.

A soldier stops for a moment, aims his rifle at a noise: a cat, sitting atop a dustbin. In a flash of fur and claws and eyes, it is gone. It knows better than to be out when the War is coming.

They come to the port, looking out over the channel sea. Waters lap gently against the metal legs of abandoned dock cranes. The tanks roll to a halt, treads becoming still and silent. The whisper of waves on rocks fills the cold air.

And in the grey mist, they see the shadow of the enemy.


This is for Sunday Photo Fiction. Photo credit to A Mixed Bag.

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