when the end comes...
Dec 10, 2009 6:32:33 GMT -8
Post by NumiTuziNeru on Dec 10, 2009 6:32:33 GMT -8
There is nothing left anymore.
Only the charnel stench of rotting blood remains, pervading every hill and valley of this accursed place.
You don't remember what it was.
All you remember is the red and black of death, watching the men watch the ones before them collapse under gunfire.
Total annihilation is all you have seen and will ever see until the end of time and all you can do is wonder why nobody seems to want peace.
He's huddled up in the corner of his tent.
Poor boy. He wasn't even sixteen yet.
There is only a gun to keep him company, out of place on that stainless floor.
It is a rarity.
The stainless floor. Not the weapon. There are too many weapons. They are strewn across the fields and falling from the sky and their iron paints horrific shards of black across the landscape.
His eyes cannot cry. Tears are of no use anymore.
The white flowers shake in his hands.
If he cannot cry, then I will cry for him, they say.
But tears are too precious to be wasted.
You never knew this place.
Something within you does, and it tries to tell you just how beautiful it was.
But it is nothing now.
The battlefield seems so much greater when you are alone.
Alone but for the white flowers blooming.
There is a rifle in your hand and you are waiting for the winds to change and for blood to spill.
Yet you are praying for them to be still.
And then you see somebody, a figure moving through the mists, far off on the other side.
There is no surprise.
The blood on his sleeves, the quick-drying gore that paints his face the colour of roses.
He could be anyone.
But you see his face, and you see those eyes that once gazed so longingly into your own...
You cannot fight anymore.
You can never fight if it's against him.
There is silence.
You feel his warmth, the soft beat of his heart, and you remember just how it was when white flowers still bloomed within the sun's embrace.
But you say nothing because words would simply waste away.
He begs for you to forgive him, not to forget him.
And you have nothing to say.
You can feel his tears on your skin.
They burn.
Only the charnel stench of rotting blood remains, pervading every hill and valley of this accursed place.
You don't remember what it was.
All you remember is the red and black of death, watching the men watch the ones before them collapse under gunfire.
Total annihilation is all you have seen and will ever see until the end of time and all you can do is wonder why nobody seems to want peace.
He's huddled up in the corner of his tent.
Poor boy. He wasn't even sixteen yet.
There is only a gun to keep him company, out of place on that stainless floor.
It is a rarity.
The stainless floor. Not the weapon. There are too many weapons. They are strewn across the fields and falling from the sky and their iron paints horrific shards of black across the landscape.
His eyes cannot cry. Tears are of no use anymore.
The white flowers shake in his hands.
If he cannot cry, then I will cry for him, they say.
But tears are too precious to be wasted.
You never knew this place.
Something within you does, and it tries to tell you just how beautiful it was.
But it is nothing now.
The battlefield seems so much greater when you are alone.
Alone but for the white flowers blooming.
There is a rifle in your hand and you are waiting for the winds to change and for blood to spill.
Yet you are praying for them to be still.
And then you see somebody, a figure moving through the mists, far off on the other side.
There is no surprise.
The blood on his sleeves, the quick-drying gore that paints his face the colour of roses.
He could be anyone.
But you see his face, and you see those eyes that once gazed so longingly into your own...
You cannot fight anymore.
You can never fight if it's against him.
There is silence.
You feel his warmth, the soft beat of his heart, and you remember just how it was when white flowers still bloomed within the sun's embrace.
But you say nothing because words would simply waste away.
He begs for you to forgive him, not to forget him.
And you have nothing to say.
You can feel his tears on your skin.
They burn.
