The whistle and explosion shook Billy to his soul.
“Incoming!” He hit the ground, hands covering his head.
He belly crawled toward safety, seeing the foxhole ahead. More whistles and explosions filled the air, but the safety of the foxhole eluded him.
The loudest explosion rattled his teeth, his body curling up, hands clamped against his ears.
A hand caressed his shoulder, quiet words cutting through the turmoil. “It’s all right, Billy. You’re home, you’re safe. The fireworks is over.”
Anna Dobritt, 2019