“There was a war, a long time ago,” said the father. “They conquered the world.”
A broken fighter plane had been rusting in the open field.
“Is that why we can’t talk?” the son asked.
His father looked around fearing someone had heard them.
“Don’t say those things, son, you’ll get us in trouble,” the father whispered. “I think we should remove this junk and clean the field.”
The son crossed his arms.
“You know what? I think we should leave it, Dad. One day I’ll bring my son here and tell him about the war, so we don’t forget…”