The dead soldier's silence sings our national anthem.
I spent many days upstairs in my grandparents attic, doing what many little girls do in their free time, playing with dolls. So when the opportunity came around to get to sleep upstairs, I became excited.
I grabbed my stuffed giraffe, whose neck and ears had a bit of a deformity, my special blanket, and a book. And, of course, who can forget the basic necessity of food for a midnight snack?
In other words, I was ready. As I was all cuddled in, ALL the lights off, "I'm a big girl!", I felt my eyes droop, and I felt myself fall asleep.
Until I heard a giant thud. My heart raced. Who's up here? I looked around, but no one was there.
Must've been the cat.
So, I laid there, clutching my teddy bear. And then I heard little pew-pews of a gun. I bolted up, heart pounding against my chest, my breath haggard. I saw a slight white mist, almost invisible in the dark, floating in the corner.
"Hu-hello?" I called out in my, "intimidating", but squeaky, voice. It was silent for hardly a beat, until the mist moved, and I saw what looked like a misty soldier, aiming to fire. I closed my eyes for a split second, and the ghost was gone.
That night I kept hearing little pew-pews of a gun, and footsteps going up and down the stairs as if there was a whole army living upstairs.
Needless to say, I never again slept in that little attic again.