Here’s one of the flash fictions from last Wednesday: “A Gift for Christmas, 1917” by Malcolm Havard:
Ignore the cold. Ignore the sleet that is soaking the sleeve of my coat. Ignore the icy water dripping off my helmet into my eyes. Ignore the hunger that is a constant dull pain in my belly. Ignore everything.
Everything – but controlling my breathing.
And the target that’s in my sights of course. I can’t ignore him.