This isn’t anything to do with Asperger’s. I just wanted to show my readers an example of my writing aside from blogging. This is an anti-war short story about World War One from a mother’s perspective.
I Didn’t Raise My Boy to be a Soldier
Why does the sun still shine? Why does it shine still in my darkness? When I think of all the happy memories I have of you, the sun always seems to be shining. Yet, you are gone and the sun remains. I sit here in my old wicker-chair on the porch, watching the mountains. In my grief, it even seems as if the misty Appalachians are weeping with me. This is where I nursed you, where I used to tell you stories, where you first picked up a fiddle and where we spent many a happy evening, singing to the stars. Now I just sit…
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