His thoughts were malleable. They would bend and flex to their own accord. One minute war, the next home. He wanted to go home.
War, it's not as amazing as he was told it would be; not as easy.
He wants to go home, with his mom and her cooking, his dad and his jokes, his sister and her drama. He wanted to see her new play, but he's too far away. He missed his bed, his childhood. Open fields with trees and swings that had rust. Laughter. His thoughts switched again.
"Work," he reminded himself. "I still have work to do."
Home. One day, he promised himself, I will go back home.
"Soldiers on the ready! Aim! Fire!"
'I'm gonna go home...right?'
A/n: I helped a buddy write this for a class project and I liked it so much I got him to send it to me so I could put it here. I'll probably use this for something soon!
YOU ARE READING
RANDOM DRAFTS OF BOOKS I'LL NEVER MAKE
RandomSo I have these drafts of books I'm probably not even going to write(if any of you do want to write them then you can, I dunno, ask ig), so like, enjoy I guess...and some are connected too
