The Ploom of Ash and Human Blood

The Ploom of Ash and Human Blood: Part 2

The doctor examined the situation and sat back on his stool and put his hands over his eyes and just began to contemplate the whole idea of it all. IT was a lot for a man to compute in his innocent mind of why death is so easy to acquire but equally as hard to achieve. He glanced up at the boy a final time.

Merely moments later some assistant medics carried off the body of the boy and tossed it onto the back of a wagon which reeked with the smell of death and fermenting decay.

The doctor helplessly watched as the body slipped between the flaps of the tent and was gone forever. He knew in a few moments another boy, or man, or some disfigured corpse would again arrive on the same cot and the process would repeat as it always had.

The anguish and turmoil within the doctor was far greater than any stress the average human mind could even comprehend within a lifetime of creating such a theory of that idea. It was no different from counting the stars in the sky or imagining how large the world truly is. It was vast in power and intensity. His sadness was a disease that he caught over the months of helping his ailing patients which were more likely to die than success.

"the problem is not that the world is growing smaller" said the doctor to himself," there’s just simply a lot less in it…"

The sound of thunder got closer and massive craters could be heard being formed and at that instant, a shell had passed through the tent rendering it mangled and disorderly. The doctors scattered trying to safely transport the soldiers away from the chaos. 

The shell had slightly missed the doctor and had put him in a disorderly state of confusion. His ears rang and his eyes were blurred and his stance was inadequate to travel upon the field which required great agility to remain safe.

For a few brief moments he tottered on his feet with canvas covering his body like a blanketed ghost. Others were running out but he remained standing.

Soldiers ran across the baron land like ants to the mother colony. This place had neither vegetation nor civilization. It was meaningless land, it was a meaningless battle.

 There were miles and miles of endless dirt plains which were littered with barricades and pikes and spears to disarm vehicles.  Wounded men lay crying to the heavens about to have their enduring pain lifted and that they may rise as if only moments before when they were physically sane. Blasts of explosions drowned out the birds and rivers and wind and songs which lulled the place only hours before.

You could taste the dust grit in your jaw when it clenched with fear and utter reaction. Every smell of smoke and death and dirt and oil and yet life, all blanketed the atmosphere of that sense.

Medic tents were spotted throughout the scene. Some heartless soldiers even burned the tents of their enemy causing the helpless to die mercilessly!

It was a sad sight to witness from any viewers perspective. 

A soldier of great heart noticed the doctor as he ran forward. The soldier cared not of what side the doctor was on, nor who he was, or what he’d done in his life. 

He approached him and removed the sheet from over him and forced him to the ground to avoid the incoming fire.

"Sir, there’s a lot of confusion out here! You must approach this time with great caution! Do you know not of the danger which stands to you face to face?! Are you sane?!" cried the soldier to be overheard by the explosions as he shook the doctor into known consciousness.

"Indeed sir, im very well fine. Just a bit shaken from a shell is all! But thank you for your assistance, my life has been spared thanks to you! I can hardly think of a response to your action!" he responded.

He examined the soldier, not much different looking from the rest who cried and sang and proclaimed around them.

"You have a large heart my friend. May you live well and prosper through this skirmish, oh I hope for the lord to be with you" He said this with a tear in his eye and a trembling lip. 

He’d seen many die over and over yet his turn had not yet come thanks to man any different from those who’d been brought into his tent!

The soldier nodded farwell and took off once again into a cluster of equally clothed warriors. He lay flat on the dirt which smelled of soiled cloths or sweat, he was petrified and the fear in his eyes resembled the hearth of a dying fire. His strength weakened, his heart grew faint. His faith was growing thin.

He was finnished. He nolonger wanted to be apart of this sin, this hell. He'd snapped, he was broken like all men come to at one point or another.

He arose quickly unannounced with little sign of reaction to the flashings and boomings and crashings. He ran for about 5 meters to stumble upon a dulled revolver with 4 of the 6 shots left. It was chipped and worn but worked all the same. He charged to the west. 

His hair blew like the wind itself and his pace was swift and smooth. His lanky was an awkward sight to see across the field with his white apron and stained red skin. It looked as if a mad scientist were on the look to find pieces for his Frankenstein.

His glasses blew off and his vision was gone. Faint thin figures covered his horizon. He aimed and shot frantically in all directions now knowing to whom he hit.

Click, Click

There were no more shots; the final round had been spilled from the barrel. 

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!" Cried the doctor,” how this world, our 'Home', is to toil and create such an event as this to torment innocent men and turn them evil, into killers, into thieves, and leave them with nothing but disease and heartache for a lifetime! It takes families away and ends bloodlines by the hands of brothers. Were all me here, were all human!"

He fell to his knees and beat the dirt and gravel so that it punctured his hands and caused open sores.

He heard the crude engine come running down the road and felt the ground tremble beneath him. Then all was white.

 There was and explosion of some kerosene tanks which had been knocked off the moving truck which passed through and in turn sent shrapnel everywhere and had men flying in the air like ragdolls. The doctor lay breathless on the ground unaware of what had occurred. He’d looked to his left and saw the soldier who’d helped him moments before smiling by his side covered in his own life. He grasped his hand tight and smiled back.

The man lay down on a gravel road with the wooden shrapnel protruding from his abdomen and his organs spilled across the path. He glanced at his final friend then looked to the black sky above and saw some blue. An eye to the storm, directly above him, and he closed his eyes and pictured the blue, and the flowers and the meadows, and rested peacefully in his final moment.