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My latest piece (I did three) in the weekly Micro Bookends flash fiction contest wherein they provide the first (PEACE) and the last (PRIZE) words, respectively, and you provide no more than 110 words in response to the above photo prompt.

Peace was the aberration we told our children about in the echoes of the bombs. The peacemakers had become ghosts in our time; their voices were lost in the cadence of the drumbeat.

Sure, we told their stories, but in a time of war, opting for peace seems a violent act.

It was our hope that a peacemaker sat idle in the crib now, waiting to show us a different way.

Impatience hastened us to check every newborn. As if there would be some marker or force indicating the fires they’d set on the warmongers’ minds.

In the quest for peace, the newly born, unblemished by war, was the prize.

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