The Boy
The trees are living things. The grass, the clumps of ragwort, the hard full ground. All of it alive. In the sky an airplane is on its side, turning east with its belly up, its engines whining, a rumble in its wake that is felt in the gut, an additional tremble in the limbs. They are all frightened.There are eight men. And the boy. Nine of them. There are six soldiers. The soldiers are outnumbered, and the men can count.