What follows is offered in response to Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge. The challenge, this week, is "Breath".
It was hot and muggy. Close. Not a breath of air.
He lay across the foxhole with an elbow dug into the slope that supported his rifle. Sweat kept dripping into his eyes.
He hated nighttime.
He kept sweeping his eyes across the open field at his front. He knew that if he focused on anything it would seem to move. The little shrubs he could see in the dark, his landmarks, could be the enemy, clothed in camouflage. Creeping. It was hard to keep from getting trigger happy.
But hold his water he must. He had one magazine left.