Remindfully
Only in the twisted minds of leftists is the importation of oil from Russia and Iran better for world peace and the environment. I doubt their intention is to destroy America, but it sure looks that way sometimes.
Headline from foxnews.com: “Russian propaganda ‘outgunned’ by social media rebuttals.” Let free, not semi-free speech reign.
Also from FN: “Russian soprano Anna Netrebko out at the Met Opera.” She refuses to denounce Putin.
And: “Mila Kunis, a ‘proud’ Ukrainian, and husband Ashton Kutcher launch fundraiser to match $3 million in donations.” Kudos.
And: “Florida sheriff’s department assisting Ukraine, sending hundreds of ballistic helmets.” They’re for those brave souls fighting in the streets.
My thanks to the kind folks who donated books, and to the lovely young woman who overcompensated me for Living Zen Remindfully: Retraining Subconscious Awareness by James H. Austin; and to the woman who bought a kids book titled Pumpkin.
I hope this isn’t inappropriate given the real hardships Ukrainians are facing. Here’s the first three paragraphs of Five Cents, a novel about a Vietnam vet who is nothing like Hollywood’s depiction of the men who answered their country’s call to fight an unpopular war. It’s a couple of minutes read:
A bead of sweat slid down Tom Harte’s back, gathering speed as it descended, sending a chill down his spine. The warm, gentle breeze stirred the tall grass, casting a sweet smell into the air. He could see far beyond the open field to where the hills in the distance seemed to touch the sky. The tranquil setting conjured memories of an outing in the country. It quickly fled from consciousness. His throat was dry, in contrast with the rest of his body, which was soaked with perspiration. He craved a tall cool gulp of water, but he would not disrupt his concentration by reaching for his canteen.
The platoon moved across the field. Tom wondered whose number would be called next. Perhaps his own. It was a cruel lottery of frightening odds and unpredictable results. They were ordinary young Americans from all walks of life who had answered their country’s call, faithfully banded together despite their differences, most longing for the day his service would end.
The silence was creepy. Tom could hear the squirming in his stomach, the squishing of his boots in the moist earth. He almost wished action would begin just to relieve the tension. Suddenly a roar to the right filled his ears so that he was deaf to all but the bloodcurdling scream that accompanied it. The blast shook the ground and dislodged the rifle from his grip. His entire life, 20 odd years, flashed before his eyes. A spinning torso passed before him as if it were hurtling through outer space. Martinez? Blood splattered against his face and entered his mouth. In the same instant he received a glancing blow to the head that knocked his helmet off, and one to the groin. His right hand groped for the chain about his neck, his left reached for his crotch. He fell to the ground hard. He heard gunfire, faint though it was. The fighting had begun. He lost consciousness.
My Amazon Author page: https://www.amazon.com/Vic-Fortezza/e/B002M4NLJE
FB: https://www.facebook.com/Vic-Fortezza-Author-118397641564801/?fref=ts
Read Vic’s Stories, free: http://fictionaut.com/users/vic-fortezza
