Marching up and down the river bank, a man stands guard a few minutes from camp. The man squints as he looks around for his friend. They both were to stand watch until the next shift came to take their spots. They say in history class that men have gotten killed on watch duty, especially if one suddenly disappears.
      Not seeing his friend, the man calls. Then calls out again. Not hearing a response makes him jittery. He makes sure that his bullets were at the ready with his rifle pointed in threat. He scans the area and takes a few cautious steps.
      “Theodore?” He calls hoping for a response this time around.
      Nothing.
      History will repeat itself. A cliché said by the little voice in his head.
      Taking a slow, deep breath the man began to turn in a slow circle. The trees were dauntingly gloomy. The branches reached out with fingers outstretched to snag his uniform. The unsettling stillness of the forest was not comforting.
      “AHHHH!!!!” The man heard the distant scream followed by the ringing of rifle.
      History will repeat itself. The same cliché said by the little voice in his head.
      His boots felt heavy. His rifle felt heavy. His head felt heavy. He turned his head ever so slightly to see Theodore. The barrel of Theodore’s rifle was smoking. The man realized that the man who screamed was him. He collapsed, hands to his chest trying to stop the red river that threatened to flow.
      Looking straight at him, Theodore’s face told all. There had been a mole in the camp telling secrets to the other side, and that mole was Theodore.
      Theodore put a finger to his lips and slowly backed away.
See, I told you history would repeat itself. the little voice in his head sneared as the man faded out.