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| Whispers | ||||||||||||
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| Hawkeye sat on the floor, leaning against his cot. The Korean wind whistled outside, blowing around the tents. Like the dead come to haunt the equally dead grounds in the dead of night. Hawkeye--the only one not dead asleep; he alone awake to hear it�s sad melody. It came louder now, calling him, calling to him. He could feel his pulse quicken in response to the sounds that became more and more human. Hawkeye could stand it no longer. He grabbed his robe and left to join the wind, hoping someday his voice too would one day be heard. |
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