The cemetery was quiet, the winter wind whispering through rows of stone. Four graves stood side by side—Clara Hale, Lily Hale, Rose Hale, and Eugene Dravenport. And now, Martin Hale rested among them, his name etched in cold granite, his story carved into silence.

They buried him with honors. They draped the flag, pinned the medal, and spoke words of valor. But the note he left told the truth; the truth no speech could capture:

We were boys once. We were enemies. We were... something else.

In the end, we were both broken by the same war.

The world moved on. The war became history. But in that quiet corner of earth, two boys from Dravenport lay together;bound not by blood, but by fate.

Brothers in arms.
Forever.

Tremar Ivey