He ran through the forest tears pricked painfully at the corner of his eyes
Agonizing pain stabbed his thigh, forcing him into a limp like run
Eyes widened with fear
The smell of burning gunpowder and the sharp putrid mixed metallic smell of burned flesh
Death lay heavy in the air.
But he kept running in fear.
The men in faded blue moving with hate and determination pursued him.
How he wanted to collapse for a rest parched from the heat of the afternoon
Sun beating through the trees and bushes with rocks and branches tearing at his clothes and legs the constant fear hangs heavy
For if he is caught he shall feel the ripping of bullets of rifles or the piercing cold steel of a saber or hang like a limp doll on the gallows or taken somewhere to rot or freeze.
He runs into a field of flowers as wild as the winds yet free of care grass that stretches high to his waists ...
Pain blistered through his veins.
Running.
Though mixed with his fear and grime sorrowful grief that creeps to the soul of his being
Still he runs through the field.
