Ficly

Postage.

A little less than a year ago I finally turned 18.
I remember my mother making my favorite kind of cake, and my father lighting the candles.
I got a gifts, but only a few; a new record, a sweater, and some much needed socks.

My childhood felt short, and once I turned 18 it was full speed ahead.
My father told me I was a young man and that I was going to have higher responsibilities.
I knew I would have such responsibilities someday, but I never thought I’d get it so soon.

My mother cried, and my father remained in the corner of the room. He didn’t speak, he kept his head down and never looked at me.

The paper remained in my hands, slightly torn and crinkled from my tight grip of fear.
I couldn’t get the tears to cry, but I was paralyzed.
My mind raced at the things I never did.
Never had a girl, never travelled, and probably would never get to see the age of 20.

Manhood was changing me as soon as I read it:
“You are hereby ordered for induction of the Armed Forces of the United States of America.”

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