Both Sides of the Story - Bosnia

The roar of the explosives devastated the peace of the valley. Tibor had covered his ears, but the thudding explosion set off the bells in his head again. He dropped his hands as dust and grit rained down on him and his men. When the dust cleared, it revealed the shattered shell of the old farmhouse.

Winter 1993, Westminster, England: "Madam Speaker, I —" Baxter groaned and lifted his pen. He stuck the end in his mouth and sucked it, searching for a better opening line. He crossed out the first words and started again. "Madam Speaker, the —" His pen froze again. "Bugger, why won't the words flow?"

"And now the piece de resistance," the old Colonel announced, leading his guest into a sunlit garden. "What do you think?" he enquired, waving his walking stick at the garden's centrepiece. Two life-size marble figures stood face to face, their hands caressing each other, their lips fused in a kiss.

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