Chris Cleave

Alistair smiled. ‘How long this war has been.”I’ll say. One hardly remembers how we lived before. Lightly – not worrying much.”Do you suppose we shall ever live that way again?”Oh, who knows? Given sufficient champagne and ether.”Maybe if we stay drunk to the end of our days we shan’t remember.

Alistair smiled. ‘How long this war has been.”I’ll say. One hardly remembers how we lived before. Lightly – not worrying much.”Do you suppose we shall ever live that way again?”Oh, who knows? Given sufficient champagne and ether.”Maybe if we stay drunk to the end of our days we shan’t remember.

– Chris Cleave –

Everyone Brave is Forgiven

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Anthony Swofford

During the few months Troy had been back home, he’d told his friends about us, and so we quickly eased into the conversation as though we’d all known each other for many years. They embarrassed us with great thanks for having served overseas. They recounted combat events Troy had told them, and we realized by the context of their stories that Troy had made us heroes for his friends because we’d been heroes to him. At this point I was the saddest I’d yet been over Troy’s passing, because the true friend from war is the friend who obliterates his own story by telling the stories of others.

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