life at the edge of makeout meadow

big john bosh sighs, slumping into his familiar, creaky old wooden rocking chair. he eyes his new surroundings—a lush meadow filled with many birds. a perfect place for him to live. the retired soldier sighs again, breathing in the fresh, verdant air. 

sure, he thinks, this isn’t as great as the backwoods of alabama, but I’m sure moving up to carrillon point was a good choice. he smiles tiredly, shifting back and forth to rock his chair.

a flock of birds rises noisily from the field, stirring big john back into reality from his slight snooze. he sees a couple of high schoolers doing god-knows-what among the flowers. maybe the birds and the bees finally learned to coexist here, he muses, a small disgusted smirk sneaking onto his face. the old man picks himself up out of his chair with obvious effort, tromps down the stairs, and wades through the calf-high grass. his footsteps barely make a sound as he reaches the teenage couple.

"hello?” he calls quietly.

the two students stop in their snogging, blushing a bright crimson.

“huh-huh-hi, sir,” the boy manages to stutter.

“you can call me big john,” the old soldier says, smiling with his entire face.

“hi, big john!” the girl chirps.

big john’s breath catches in his throat—her voice sounds exactly like his old wife’s.

“leave this field,” he orders sternly. “and never come back.”

the two stand up abruptly and run, their feet rustling in the grass. big john stares after them before plodding back to his small cabin through the ocean of unexotic fauna.