Every cell in Holden’s body vibrated with fear and shock. Two hours of heavy shelling, punctuated by probing infantry attacks, had him shaking like a jitterbug. Only the soundtrack was all wrong. Instead of Benny Goodman and His Orchestra, he was jiving to Jerry Howitzer and his machine guns. They were big on percussion and bass, but devoid of melodies and harmonies. Betty would have hated it. She’d only dance four four. Not that he’d be dancing any time soon. Not with one leg. Or perhaps never again unless a medic was suicidal enough to join him in no-man’s land.
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.