Here is a short story about war. Bobby is in the middle of a game when the unthinkable happens.
Bobby kicked the orange dust with his sneaker. He twisted his grip around the bat three times, then tapped his bat on home plate. He braced for the pitch.
The pitcher shook his head, then shook it again, finally he nodded. Like a ballet dancer, the boy arched backwards then forwards. Before Bobby could swing, the catcher’s mitt clapped shut.
“Strike!” said the umpire over the loud cheering.
Bobby looked to his father, who was clapping and cheering for him.
“You got this Bobby!” he yelled from behind the fence.
Again, Bobby kicked the orange dust with his sneaker, twisted his grip around the bat three times, then tapped his bat on home plate. He braced for the second pitch, but the pitcher was looking up at the sky. The players in the field had all stopped to stare at the big blue sky. The umpire lifted his helmet. Parents stood up from the bleachers. Everyone was focused on the sky. Only when Bobby took off his helmet, did he hear the faint buzzing which emanated from above. His heart panicked. He searched the sky for it.
People began screaming. Parents yelled to their kids to rush off the field. Babies were carried in arms as people left strollers, ice chests, and blankets. Bodies scattered in all directions. His father’s strong hands grabbed his shoulders.
“Shouldn’t we run?” Bobby asked his father.
“No one can out run it,” he lifted Bobby off the ground embracing him tightly, “I love you” said his father while holding in sobs.
The last thing Bobby did was hug his father at home base.