“My orders are to fight; Then if I bleed, or fail,
Or strongly win, what matters it? God only doth prevail.
The servant craveth naught Except to serve with might.
I was not told to win or lose—my orders are to fight.”
–Ethelwyn Wetherald
It was around eleven o’clock, and I knew I should go to bed, but my husband was out of town, and I felt uneasy. No matter that my mother lived in our basement apartment, and our house was nestled in what was generally a quiet community, tonight, the responsibility of holding the fort hung a little heavier.
A party was underway at the house kitty-corner to us (also known as caddy-corner). Anyway, the house on the corner diagonally across from us was home to a hardworking single mom and her teenage son. Tonight, while mom was at work, her son had apparently decided to invite over a few friends.
As the evening wore on, the noise escalated. Turning out the lights and
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