Length: 200 words exactly
The sun beat down on the Tuscany countryside and the sweat poured off my brow. The shimmering of the passing scenery spoke volumes in the summer of 1952.
Ten miles to go and the obsequious guide continued his rehearsed babble, pointing out landmarks as we passed them. There's a town hall. And there, just there, that's where the Americans were billeted. Oh, and see over there? That's where the aliens landed.
OK, I might have misunderstood that one; stuff gets lost in translation.
The road vanished beneath the wheels of the rented motor car at a steady pace but I just wanted to get there, to relax.
It had been a long trip and I was looking forward to getting there, to drinking some of the famed Vino Nobile.
I was ostensibly visiting the local arts festival; lots of strangers would be in town, which was important.
As we approached the town, we passed a honey and cream coloured building that I realised was a church. I wondered whether the man I was looking for prayed there, whether his war crimes had been forgiven by his deity.
I felt for the gun in my bag; they'd not been forgiven by us.
© Lee Barnett, 2005