Sandbox

In single file with rifles in their hands belaboured breath under an airless sun, slip sliding swiftly, softly shifting sand beneath their boots the sparkling granules run. When they set out, those twenty-two brave men all battle hardened, making this Platoon were slowly picked off, time and time again by next door's dog, or buried with a spoon. And just when safety seemed to be in sight, gazing skyward, the Captain cursed their luck, they backed off from it's shadow, wreathed in fright, their doom sealed by a bright pink rubber duck. A child's imagination knows no bounds for in their world, enjoyment's always found. For contest 'Sandbox', sponsor Anthony Slausen