Nowoman’s Land
Her arthritic fingers ached as she laid kindling in the fireplace, checking for moisture. The surrounding bomb-blasted houses provided plenty of wood, but most was wet, which made smoke. Smoke spotted from her chimney would mean certain death.
She was boiling water when she heard a crash. She crouched, peering out. Below, three enemy soldiers were hammering at the door. Oblivious looters, probably.
Sighing, she picked up a battered AK-47. Aiming, she fired three quick shots. The soldiers collapsed.
She’d have to hide the bodies. The army kept promising they’d liberate the town this season. She prayed it was soon.
The Green-Walled Treehouse 
Now there’s a lady who knows how to defend herself! Well written story.
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This scared the dickens outta me David. I’m now thinking of getting a gun permit.
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The fingers may not be quite so arthritic after all
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Where fiction and fact blend into the truth being played out somewhere close by.
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Good for her.
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Dear David,
I hope she’s Ukranian and soldiers were Russian. Quite a story. Well done.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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I will admit to be inspired by current events, imagining her someone in eastern Ukraine in one of the smashed up towns, waiting for the Ukrainian army to retake it. Thanks for reading.
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Sung to the Aerosmith song, Granny “got a gun.” I hope she has enough food to last until liberation.
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Hopefully. She seems pretty resourceful though, so I suppose if she’s made it this far, she should be okay.
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