PHOTO PROMPT © David Stewart
“Home.”
Gerald had dreamed of going home for so long. He’d had an idyllic childhood. From the white picket fence, to the front pouch where Grandpa would swap tall tales with neighbors, to the family backyard barbecues.
He stood outside drinking it all in. His dress uniform was crisp, the duffle he’d been carrying which rested on the sidewalk had been light. Gerald tried to breathe a sigh of relief.
But he was sixty years late. Instead of coming home from Nam, he was still buried in an unmarked grave thousands of miles from home. Now he could only dream.
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