My backyard.

I remember when this was my backyard.
I remember every tree planted. I remember every flower planted. I would even go as far as to say that I can almost remember every single straw of grass, but maybe that is too much.
It would be fair to say that the yard was nice. More beautiful than average, even. I remember all this about my backyard.

What I don’t so much remember, but seems to be a new addition is the blood. Nor do I remember the squad yelling into the radio for support while taking cover. I don’t remember putting all the shells and casings there, or the bodies. I don’t remember ever having live grenades on my backyard either, but it’s all there.

I know this because I see all this through the window while drinking my morning coffee and I will be honest. I have not been following the news ever since my TV stopped working.

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