Scibbles

This was the day the war did not happen.

The men, prepared for battle, knowing that they could die, slept with some difficulty, but they knew it was for a good cause.

The lieutenants, majors and colonels, relying on their inner timepieces, were aware of what they were about to face. They, too, slept fitfully, wondering what the dawn would bring, and who would survive the first wave.

The generals in charge of the mission slept well, especially one who felt that his five-star title was not enough and that this moment would secure his place in history. He would be proud to see how his men fared and died with honour.

The men, lieutenants, majors and colonels all rose as soon as reveille hit the air. They were out of their bunks and beds without as much as a word from anyone higher up in the chain.

The generals also arose with the whistling high notes of the horn, ready to take their men into the ugliness of combat.

And they all had to stop and consider something rather unusual…

Their shoelaces…

If they had known there was a spy in their midst, they would not have suspected that removing all laces and leaving new ones all scibble-less would be a successful tactic. They would probably laugh if they knew the other side faced the same problem. Probably...

So hard to lace up...

So much time wasted...

The war would have to wait…

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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