Micah Park Biffle

A Soldiers Release   Drunk from last night, Sergeant Calcus wakes with incoherence to a rumbling just outside his room. He stumbles from his bed and rests his drunken body against the window that faces outside. He looks, his eyes wavering back and forth.  Looking down into the empty street and there he sees something. At first, it is a blur, his mind is not yet fully awake from his stupor. He then drops an empty bottle of whiskey he had been clenching  and uses his hands to block the streets lights reflecting on the window.   He places his eyes beneath his hands and looks further in detail what he is looking at. Adjusting his sight, he finally sees what it is. Its is a helicopter, a helicopter had landed in the empty street just on the other side of his room.  Confused, he looks at his watch, it reads, O-Three-hundred hours. He looks back at the chopper and watches with intrigue. As he watches he sees two men exit. Both wearing pilot unif...

A Courageous Purpose  He was only nineteen, much like those around him; he was lost in what life was and where he should go. High school was over and the doors of life were open. He was overwhelmed at the thought of opportunities; but something in him drove him from the average path. The choice to get a job or to go to college were dreadful thoughts. The idea of being placed once more in a room with a teacher. Listening to what mostly likely would have no interest in his heart nor mind; was agonizing to him. The mere thought of sitting at a small table stacked with books drew a nauseating urge from his gut. Boredom followed beside this nauseous feel. Though he felt no desire for either a job or school, he had to make a choice. His fathered gave him three , go to school, get a job, or move out. All three of those were dreadful angles of thought. Each tied a knot inside his heart, constricting his conscious will to create. But though he be a man of a creative mind....

The Flavor of War A roaring crowd of excitement and love. The return of fathers, sons, and brothers. Relief is the scent of the heart in this beating moment. At least, that is what it seems to be; but returning from the horrors of war, many are broken, but unaware. Shadows drag behind closed eyes as they speak with loquacious tongues. Creating seamless memories to haunt with vivid realities. Tones of hell creep from the guilt that putrefies the soul. Rotting it with inflamed shame. Coating the mind in endless darkness as pale eyes gaze with memory. Calling out the shadows that be the ghosts of battle. Flashes of heat engulf the body at rest; waking in an alert of anxious recollection of what one hopes to omit with the passing of time. But hell knows of no such passing. It embodies itself in the pasture of mind and body. Entangling with depraved taste for madness. Boiling the mind in copious memoirs of terror; the actions of man. Blood curdling from lungs, limbs severed from...

A Ticking Clock In War Three minutes and twenty seconds, the clock is ticking! Survival is at the fore front his mind, his veins, rushing rivers of blood. His eyes constrict to the goal at hand. Gun fire resonates through the village like wild thunder; as it rains down on the now burning and motionless convoy. Screams and explosions take flight to the dusted sky. The moon beams with a crimson radiance. Hill stops stand silhouetted in the foreground. Nothing is completely coherent in the moment. His thoughts collide in a wild fight to keep himself alive, he has only himself. Communications have ceased do to debris from an explosion hitting his radio. His chest on a constant rate to feed his lungs air. His bodied pulsating to the rhythm of his adrenaline charged heart. Bullets whisk by; only a few feet above his head. He watches the rounds buzz past him as they pop with an all too familiar snap. Watching, he takes a chance to see what threat he is against. Stuck behind a s...