This post is a part of the Song Series; short stories that are each inspired by and tied to a specific song. For more entries in the Song Series, please check out the Song Series category. More information about the song can be found at the end the story.

My grandkids, they ask me about you, and I tell them.

I tell them I remember quiet; a great deal of it. There were the usual sounds of camp, the popping of morning fires cooking fatty cuts of pork and the clanking of our metal cups, but I could acknowledge only a dull ringing, like the far away sound of sirens calling. It had been that way since the day before, when the fighting was the fiercest, the air thick with death, and when you and I met face-to-face for the first time.

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