Scene: An early Spring day. Early afternoon, maybe around 1pm. A small town. The main road lined by large oaks. Storefronts behind the oaks. Two miles down, on the left, a small house. Inside, a small living room.
Action: Father fumbles with his paper. Junior lies stomach-down on the floor, his chin held in his hands. He dreams. A boy’s dream. He dreams while father continues to fumble with The Daily paper. And the guests draw their faces long. It’s a boy’s dream and long faces think sad thoughts. Sad thoughts draw long faces longer and yet the boy dreams.
An early afternoon’s dream. A happy dream, really. Something happy amidst a father who can’t manage his newspaper in a room of guests with long, sad faces. The boy is running through a field while grandfather watches. The boy runs and grandfather smiles. Off in the distance kites dance in the air. The kites and the boy mimic each other’s movements. Grandfather laughs, pleased.
The afternoon wanes. Guests drip here and there and so the house eventually empties. It’s time for dinner. The boy is hungry, but he’s too busy dreaming. Father put the paper down long ago. It sits creased on the floor. The house empties and breathes heavily, sighs heavier. Long faces drawn by sadness saddened the house. Father turns on the television. The boy looks up and stares.
Another soldier died today.