1sentence : in which a series of one-word prompts are given, and a single sentence is written for each.

shrapnel

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War does not determine who is right
- only who is left.

Bertrand Russell

#01 – control

- Stamped across the white surface in hard, harsh lettering are the words 'Summons to War', and it takes all her might not to tear the envelope in half.

#02 – duty

- When she sees how the stubborn set of his jaw reflects the patriotism in his expression, she doesn't even try to change his mind.

#03 – fairytale

- As she reads to her three-year-old son from the glossy, brightly-illustrated pages, every spoken sentence is a jagged reminder of her own shattered happy ending.

#04 – goodbye

- Standing stiffly in his heavy boots, her husband waves a jerky farewell; he's not yet out the door, but she misses him already.

#05 – immortal

- She's always wanted to live forever, because the finality of death simply terrifies her, but even eternity seems pointless without him.

#06 – imprint

- Although it feels like a millennium since she last saw them, she knows that even were she to go blind, she would never be able to forget the colour of his eyes.

#07 – impulse

- That night, she places three bowls on the table for dinner; when she notices her mistake, a whole ten minutes later, the full force of the situation finally hits her.

#08 – insomnia

- The numbers on the clock read 3:14, glowing eerily red in the dark, but it's her sixth night without him and the sight is no longer unfamiliar.

#09 – kryptonite

- Until she catches sight of the picture that her son has sticky-taped to the refrigerator door, a hastily sketched man in uniform, she's managed to keep him off her mind for seven hours straight.

#10 – leaves

- Patches of red and orange decorate the garden like paints from an artist's palette, and she realises that this is her first autumn without him in more than a decade.

#11 – murder

- Her husband isn't a killer; it pains her to know that his hands have been stained with crimson, and that each death he triggers will leave a permanent scar across both their hearts.

#12 – myriad

- One night, after hours of tossing and turning, she gives up sleep altogether and stands out on the porch, determinedly counting each and every star dotting the night sky.

#13 – news

- The letter is thrown onto the ground moments after it is opened; the words "husband" and "death" have been obliterated, replaced by rivulets of running black ink.

#14 – numbers

- She can't help but wonder how many mothers have lost a child, how many men have lost a friend, and how many hours it will take to explain to her son that Daddy is dead.

#15 – oblivion

- All too often, the weight of his death becomes too much to bear, and she wonders what it would feel like to be untouchable.

#16 – phantom

- Watching the first rays of light break through the darkness, she feels a ghost sensation of his lips against her own; long after the sun has risen from its grave, she remains frozen to the spot.

#17 – picture

- Regardless of how much it hurts her to look at it, she can't spend a day without staring wistfully at the framed photo on the mantlepiece.

#18 – promise

- His voice echoes in her head, as though it were just yesterday that he said, "I'll always love you."

#19 – replica

- It seems as though her heart literally breaks when she watches the sleeping child; he looks exactly like his father.

#20 – selfish

- She has no doubt that her husband is fulfilling his responsibilities toward the country, but she can't stop herself from wishing that he'd fulfil his responsibilities toward his family first.

#21 – soldier

- Hearing her son bang his tiny figurines together, making childish rifle sounds, she snatches the toys from his hands without even thinking.

#22 – storm

- The feeling of rain ravishing her face and wind whipping through her hair is almost hypnotic, and just for a while, she allows herself to indulge in the chaos.

#23 – strong

- In front of her son, she always puts on a brave front because he's already lost a father; he can't lose his mother as well.

#24 – sunlight

- Sleepily, she squirms toward the left side of the bed as morning seeps through the curtains; the sheets aren't nearly as warm as she expected them to be, and it takes her a few bitter moments to understand why.

#25 – teach

- When her son tells her solemnly that he "hates the man who killed Daddy," she kneels beside the boy and explains patiently to him that he should never hate.

#26 – threshold

- At night, when the boy is safely asleep, she shuts the door tightly and screams all her anguish into the nearest pillow – screams and screams and screams until her throat is raw.

#27 – twilight

- Soft light spills beautifully over the horizon, and she thinks that the moment could only be more perfect if he were here.

#28 – whisper

- Standing in front of his gravestone, all she can hear is the wind whistling through the trees; even so, she swears she can make out a few faint words.

#29 – winter

- Perhaps it's his absence that magnifies the iciness of the biting chill, but this season is undoubtedly the coldest she's ever experienced.

#30 – wish

- All she can do is pray that someday, the human race will be able to ask what war was.