Nikki was a punk, only been in the service three weeks before the trenches. Our unit the 1-28th Black Lions had been decimated so many times, I barely knew anyone anymore, but I knew Private Nikki Davis.
They say the longer you stay in the trenches the easier it is to get isolation sickness. All I knew was that I wanted to put a slug in this idiots brain. Where did he get tobacco from anyway.
Pitink.
Bullets fell like a typhoon, but i could only hear his spittoon.
Pitink.
I could dream of beaches, while bombs burst, but was awakened by a pitink.
It consumed my(Pitink) every thought. It had to stop, no matter what!
“Davis can you light dis?” I said tossing him a Joe.
Pitink
“Ain’t got a lighter.”
“Just use that candle.”
Pitink Was the sound the bullet made that killed Nikki Davis.
“Is he dead sarge?” someone yelled.
“Yeah he oughta know, lighten’ a smoke ona candle’d gettem’ shot.” I said rejoicing in my isolated mind. The sound was gone, and now I could rest.
Then rain fell.
Pitink
Pitink
Pitink