“Bring out yer dead.” The monotonous voice made Leonardo shudder. He backed away from the cart as the fleabitten horse pulled it past him, but his eyes found their way to the dead inside despite his revulsion. Dead, staring eyes. Black tongues. Swollen lumps on arms and legs that would never move again. His stomach twisted and heaved and he looked away quickly, almost being sick. ~Leonardo Story
Mama gave a shuddering sigh, her own tears falling warmly on Annie’s arm. “I know, Annie. I know.”
Annie raised her head and for a moment anger flared in her eyes. “Mama, I could ki--” Suddenly she broke off, her eyes on the rosebush. The blossoms were, of course, all gone, but the plants themselves still remained, bobbing gently in the cold breeze.
Abruptly, she got to her feet and went inside to her room. Reaching her room, she sat down and reached into her desk. As mama entered behind her, Annie took out a box and opened it. Inside there lay a dried rose blossom, the one mama had given to her that Thanksgiving evening. Annie held the bloom to her nose. A faint scent drifted from the crinkled petals, drifting into her nostrils. ~Time of War, Time of Peace
The bell jangled and Michelle rose to her feet, her hand clutching Tucker’s leash. They moved slowly out the door and onto the street. The sun felt warm on her face and Michelle smiled, letting the sounds of a busy London morning swirl around her. From her left came the sounds of Mrs. Burnside sweeping her porch, a task she did every morning at precisely eight o’clock. Then there was old Mr. Mackey, sitting on his porch and pointing out between puffs on his pipe places Mrs. Burnside had missed. ~Sound of Thunder
Stay with my group, Ben thought frantically, forcing his way through the water. Bullets, bombs, shells, all screamed through the air, hitting men and landing craft, as well as supplies, jeeps and tanks that were trying desperately to get to shore. As Ben dodged artillery fire, sharp stakes, and barbed wire, his ears pounded with the hellish roar of the German guns.
Halfway there! Ben mustered up his courage and moved faster, away for the group he was with. A shell screamed towards him and for the second time he flung himself down into the choking, salty water. As he forced his way to the surface, his pack pulling on him like a lead weight, his head bumped something firm. Clearing his chest and shoulders for the water, he saw it was the remains of the body of the man whom he had banged with his head back on the ship. ~Invasion Into France
Detestable boy! Why hadn’t father shoved him back onto the streets where he belonged? Angelina clenched her teeth. But of course father had to give an example to the poor outside, who would expect him to treat the boy with kindness and hospitality. Forget kindness! Why couldn’t the loathsome thing go back to wherever he came from? ~Leonardo Story
“If you bring what I ask, I promise he and his brother will be banished no more.” Father smiled benevolently. “Oh, and there is one more thing. You must take my daughter, Angelina with you. I feel she will be safer in Rome. Once you arrive in that city, you may leave her there in the care of one of my relatives. I will give you the name so you may find him.”
In a moment any sympathy Angelina had for Leonardo vanished and her original loathing of the boy returned like a flood. “Father! You cannot possibly mean that I will be escorted all the way to Rome by this..... this beggar? This filth? This guttersnipe from the streets?”
Leonardo looked just as alarmed as she felt and he rose to his feet. “Good Father, I do not see how I could do such a thing--”
“Unless you do,” father said gravely, cutting off his words, “I will not grant Santo’s return.” ~Leonardo Story
The order came, the rifles went of in a crash of noise, Albert gave a cry, and Jeffrey lunged forward all at the same time. Wilbur grabbed him by his collar and hauled Jeffrey back against his chest as Albert crumpled into his grave.
His whole body shaking, Jeffrey let the man give him a hug of support. “It’s my fault, sir,” he whispered as Albert was quickly buried and the men began to get in line to march. “I told on him. I got him killed.” ~When Johnny Comes Marching Home
He offered her his arm and she took it, leaning against his shoulder. “Was there anything interesting in the paper today?”
Reginald sighed and shook his head. “Nothing that is new. I wish the elections would come faster. I have my vote all thought out and planned, and it’s John Breckinridge that my ballot will go to.” He turned to his sister, his eyes heated and angry, and flung his hands into the air. “I tell you, Elsa, if that backwoods, no good Lincoln takes the seat of officer I’ll riot!” ~Dissolved
Snippets of a Story is hosted at Katie's Blog.