Gunfire: The Lock


This too shall pass.

I made no reply, although I allowed a vague smile to suffuse my features. A few images made their way through my thoughts in stutters of memory.

A fellow Four Peaks recruit, her golden hair flowing over an immaculate dress uniform - our courtship ended by mutual consent over the demands of the service. It had never quite become serious, although who knows what might have been?

Grace, as close to a childhood companion as I could claim to have had. Difficult, of course, socially. There were many memories of her, although her modest and genuine smile was what usually struck me. A quick examination revealed that I had been aware, in the background, of her affection for some time. It had never been the right time to enquire, I told myself.

And then there was the drawn sword in the room: the never-quite-forgotten Miss Fiamma to whom I was, in a very technical sense, still engaged. My memories of her were blurred a little by... well.

Quite aware that I had still yet to answer Ryle, I tipped my glass and drank.

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Inspired by (sequel to):

I took pity on Ryle and spun the paper at him, watching him catch it idly with his left hand.

On it…

Gunfire: The Powder
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