Therapy Bits

The night was quiet, too quiet for Corporal Reyes’ liking. His boots crunched over gravel as the patrol wound its way down the ruined street. Broken windows stared back like watchful eyes.

“Movement?” whispered Alvarez, tightening his grip on the rifle.

Reyes shook his head. “Not yet.”

A wind carried the faintest chime of metal—like cans rattling. Both men froze. This sector had been cleared days ago. Supposedly.

Reyes raised a hand. The patrol stopped as one, shadows against shadows. His pulse drummed in his ears.

Then he saw it: a child, barefoot, clutching a tin toy soldier. No more than seven. Her eyes reflected the moonlight like shards of glass.

Before Reyes could speak, she whispered something he couldn’t hear—then turned and vanished between the collapsed walls.

The patrol moved on, silent, but Reyes knew they’d never file this moment in the report. Some encounters weren’t meant for paper.

Patrol – Word of the Day Challenge