A Gone With the Wind style prompt for this week's Flash Friday.
In the mold, the bullets were lined up side to side, tip to tip. Like the ships that father told him about. The ones that brought him here. Hardly space to breath, no space to move. The ammunition was identical to the hundreds of others Justin’d made this week alone. The plantation seemed to have a never-ending supply of metal to scrap.
With the setting sun, the makeshift metalworks looked like the fires he’d been using to melt down the remains of Master’s house. Justin was pleased he’d been able to overproduce these bullets for the quartermaster’s weekly pick-up. Not that he would avoid another whipping, but that they would be used by Master’s sons in the field of battle. Would they know their ammunition was made from the ruins of their inheritance? Would they know that each bullet was guaranteed to misfire and destroy the gun because of the strategic changes Justin had made to the mold?
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