PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
November was a cold month for fireworks, especially on the river, but it was a special day for Charles and his young bride Elizabeth. They held hands as they watched, bundled up as they were in heavy coats.
“It’s over,” she murmured. Charles put and arm around Liz.
“Not soon enough,” said Charles. “Poor Elliot.”
“My brother succumbed to the terrible influenza, not mustard gas or artillery shell.”
“He still died in war,” said Charles.
“But no more will perish as he did,” said Liz.
“Armistice Day.” Charles stood a little taller. “The war to end all wars is over.”
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