Beneath a Scarlet Sky

by Mark T. Sullivan

growing up at seventeen, growing old at eighteen,

Nothing will ever be the same. The teenager could feel that as plain as the hornets still buzzing and the explosions still ringing in his ears. Nothing will ever be the same.

“Isn’t it magnificent?” Michele said. “What’s magnificent?” Uncle Albert said, looking around, puzzled. “This place. How clean the air is. And the smells. No burning. No bomb stench. It seems so . . . I don’t know. Innocent?”

“He loves your mama.” “He doesn’t show it. It’s like he’s afraid to.”