His Last War
A Bitesize Horror Story by
James Dixon
Copyright © James Dixon 2015
James Dixon has asserted his right, under the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author
of this work
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not
by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or
otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any
form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published
and without a similar condition including this condition being
imposed on the subsequent purchaser
First published digitally in 2015
Also by James Dixon
Novels
Astray
Love’s Last Fall
Death and the Pilgrim
The Unrivalled Transcendence of Willem J. Gyle
The Stone Gardens
Zombie Apocalypse: Love in the End Times
Short Story Collections
Love’s Labours
Bitesize Horror Stories
#1 The Ghost Game
#2 The Wolves
#3 Ghosts of the Asylum
#4 The Goatman
#5 The Ghosts of War
#7 The Chase
#8 Journey to Death Row
#9 The Forgotten Fortress
#10 His Last War
#11 The Golem
#12 The Bogeyman
His Last War
When he was a kid his eyelids would flutter as they opened. The sandman had come, he had always come. His eyes would itch, they would be lead weights. He would open them reluctantly, he would yawn as he climbed out of bed. His mouth was a black hole sucking in the world. Words came slowly to such a black hole, they came reluctantly, sluggish.
He was famous for it. His mother would have to call on him half a dozen times to get him up for school. Other kids on the block knew that if they knocked for him before ten am on a Saturday they would be turned away. ‘He’s still in his coma,’ his mother would tell them, and they would wait patiently for him to return to this world.
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When he opened his eyes he wondered if he was dreaming… The darkness was complete as he loosened the opening of his sleeping bag. His breath steamed in the cold. Cold so intense he thought his bones would never feel the warmth of springtime again. So cold that he didn’t realize at first what his fingers were feeling as the reached out. It was nearly Christmas back at home. This was his goal- see in Christmas day, survive long enough to do that. Survive the cold of the desert’s anger. Survive the snapping of enemy rifles. His fingers found the ground as he thought about surviving Christmas in front of him. About surviving Thanksgiving behind him. About the cold in between survival. The ground was ice cold and metallic and he remembered where he was. He bunked down last night in the back of a jeep, a jeep with cold metal floors and crates of ammunition through which he staggered as he grabbed his rifle and climbed to his feet, seconds before the world exploded.