New Shoots

He sat in the shade of a tree - not that the mostly-bare branches gave much shade. But, looking up at them, against the backdrop of the perfectly blue sky, he could see hints of green, little shoots where fledgling leaves were slowly curling through the bark, life beginning again, rebirth. Hope for what was coming for the future.

He looked back down again to the photo clutched in his dark-skinned hands. A woman, a small child, a baby in her arms. They were sitting on the ground, in the dust - dirty and tired, but smiling. He knew they were his family. He hadn't been there when the photo had been taken. he'd been far away. He'd been here, here with this tree that everyone had thought was dead. Here fighting in this war that nobody remembered the beginning of. And nobody thought they would see the end of.

But there were rumours. Everywhere, rumours. Already, some people had been sent home. There were only a handful of them now, guarding this outpost. There'd been no attacks for weeks - why would there be? But he was still here, his uniform dusty, but his weapon kept clean and well ordered. It seemed pointless now, but he did what he was told.

The shout went up from inside the barracks and he looked up. The word had come. The war was officially over and, more than that - the army had been disbanded. He could go home. He was being sent home. To his wife, to his son, to his baby daughter who would be less of a baby now. Who wouldn't have a solider for a daddy. She would just have a daddy - the rest would work itself out.