This for Sunday Photo Fiction 200 word challenge.
From very young we were treated as a fivesome.
Mom would say, “You kids, you’re so close.”
Aunt Nettie would agree, “It’s good to see cousins being such friends.”
Uncle Bert would clear his throat, wipe his eyes, “I wish I had had mates I could rely on like youse all have.”
They all said we even looked alike, that Granddad Tom’s genes dominated. Teachers and bus drivers sometimes couldn’t tell us apart. Peas in a pod, people would say.
And we always did well; we were winners, survivors, fated to achieve, to accomplish. Golden boys.
We were inseparable. Bound by invisible wires – inviolable and sacred links.
When it came to games, we were always selected as a group. “Watch these five guys, see how they work together, see how they support each other,” Coach would say.
The recruiting sergeant snapped us up.
“You men are a team, you have each other’s backs,” said the lieutenant who made us black up, and sent us behind enemy lines.
Except, when the shooting started, when the bullets were flying, god mislaid the rulebook. Forgot we were golden. I was blessed; the other four died.
Make that another double, will you.