by Melissa Martin
11/04/2011 / Short Stories
In 1983, I worked part-time at a cookie shop in a mall. My boss, an Italian from New York, carried an abrasive personality. One day while baking cookies together, a window into his soul opened. He pulled out his wallet and showed me a man's dog tags. During the Vietnam War, he killed an enemy soldier and took his tags. On his worst days, he looks at the dog tag and feels sadness for the soldier's family, yet, thankfulness that he is still alive. I embraced his unforgettable memory of life and death and war.
Melissa writes about the God and human connection and condition.
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