Shot! [🗡]

🌟🌟🤍🤍🤍🤍🌟🌟 |🔫| — 🔠ood evening, my, I confess, unknown reader. 🔠 never wanted a dog. Never saw the sense in it. A man who’s spent years sleeping with one eye open doesn’t need something else to worry over. I figured I’d be better off alone—quiet, undisturbed, with no one looking at me like I’m supposed to have all the answers. It happened on a raw October morning. I was walking back from the mill, minding my own busi…

🌟🌟🤍🤍🤍🤍🌟🌟 |🔫| — 🔠ood evening, my, I confess, unknown reader. 🔠y dog—a scruffy, unimpressive-looking fellow with more energy than sense—pulls at the leash like we’re charging into battle, not treading down a quiet country path. We keep to the edge of the woods. The air’s thick with the smell of wet earth and pine, and every rustle in the underbrush sends him into a frenzy. He’ll freeze, ears pricked, tail stiff as a…

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🌟🌟🤍🤍🤍🤍🌟🌟 |🔫| — 🔠ood evening, my, I confess, unknown reader. 🔠 horse isn’t like a musket—you can’t just clean it and set it aside till the next fight. A horse needs watching every day, like a stubborn child that’ll get itself into trouble the moment you blink. This morning I started with the hooves. Mud’s a cunning thing: it packs tight, hides stones, and turns a steady walk into a limp. I picked each hoof clean wi…

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🌟🌟🤍🤍🤍🤍🌟🌟 |🔫| — 🔠ood evening, my, I confess, unknown reader. 🔠here’s a leak in the roof above the bed. I patched it with tar and a scrap of canvas, but I know it’s only holding until the next storm. That’s the way of things out here: you fix one thing, and two more show their teeth. But fixing them keeps the dark out, and that’s enough for now. The coffee’s bitter, the fire’s low, and the day’s still long. But the …

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🌟🌟🤍🤍🤍🤍🌟🌟 |🔫| — 🔠ood evening, my, I confess, unknown reader. 🔠don’t write letters. Never saw the point in putting words on paper when a nod or a grunt does the job. But here I am, scratching this out with a pen that feels like it’s made for a schoolboy, not a man who’s marched through mud up to his knees and tasted smoke instead of supper. They say the war’s over, and I suppose it is—on paper, at least. Paper’s goo…

Они расстроились, но не сдались. Один, самый упрямый, достаёт палку и заявляет: «Я буду рыцарем! Вот мой меч!» Я посмотрел на эту палку, потом на него, потом на небо — и расхохотался. «Меч, — говорю, — это не палка, которую ты у забора подобрал. Меч — это сталь, вес и опыт. А ты с этой штукой и комара не победишь». В конце концов я не выдержал. «Слушайте сюда, — говорю им строго, — ещё одна выходка — и я позову лесн…

🌟🌟🤍🤍🤍🤍🌟🌟 |🔫| — 🔠ood evening, my, I confess, unknown reader. I’m sitting on the porch, puffing my pipe, and thinking: how much longer must I endure this nonsense? Around our town, blast them, have settled these… what do you call them… moon gnomes. Small, about the size of a cat, with ears like bats and eyes like two saucers. And it’d be all right — let them live — but they’re as thick as two short planks! Yesterday…

🌟🌟🤍🤍🤍🤍🌟🌟 |🔫| — 🔠ood evening, my, I confess, unknown reader. I’m sitting on the porch, scowling at an empty bottle — and thinking: I’d be better off giving that coin to a dog than to that scoundrel at the market. Bought it, of course. Paid three silver coins — near as much as for a barrel of good ale. Brought it home, poured a glass: the colour — like someone spat chewed tobacco into water. The smell… Lord have merc…

🌟🌟🤍🤍🤍🤍🌟🌟 |🔫| — 🔠ood evening, my, I confess, unknown reader. I’m sitting on the porch, smoking my pipe, and I’m still so angry my fingers tremble. An hour ago, a brick came flying through my window, blast it all! Straight into the glass, with a crash and a tinkle — felt just like being under fire again. I jumped up, ran out into the street — and there they are, a bunch of boys, five or six of them, standing and gig…

С тех пор мы и дружим. Он лечит, я сторожу порядок в городке. Раз в неделю он приходит ко мне на крыльцо, мы пьём виски и смеёмся над той историей. И я каждый раз думаю: хорошо, что он забыл про ту дуэль. Иначе не было бы у меня лучшего друга — человека, который не играет в честь, а просто делает то, что должен.

🌟🌟🤍🤍🤍🤍🌟🌟 |🔫| — 🔠ood evening, my, I confess, unknown reader. It was after the skirmish at Plattsburgh. We were camped, had a bit too much by the fire. I, young and hot‑headed, went and bellowed: “Lee, you’re always poking about in guts and bones, but you’ve got the courage of a chicken!” He just grinned, narrowed his eyes: “Anderson, if you’re so keen to test my mettle — name the time and place. Just know this: I sh…

🌟🌟🤍🤍🤍🤍🌟🌟 |🔫| — 🔠ood evening, my, I confess, unknown reader. I sit on the porch, smoke my pipe, and watch the sunset. Here’s retirement, blast it — silence and peace. Used to be, every day was a battle: forced marches, orders barked, mud up to the knees. Now — just the wind and the creak of the swing. My legs ain’t what they used to be. The knee aches before rain — an old shrapnel fragment reminding me it’s there. …

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