Through sun-caressed leaves, a bated breath of air--hot and humid--stirred unrest upon the ground. A sweltering plain swathed in scorched sunlight. A land burnt dry. Though, luscious--still. Of sinuous channels that flowed through dried underbrush; choked, blackened and churning--buried underground.
Those decrepit rivulets depart; the desirous river. Eau de vie. Ripped from the earth's nurturing embrace, coaxed from the barren surface through false promise--then tainted, poisoned by transgressive immorality. Now parched, sunbaked under the scrutiny of conscientious warmongers.
Brought to delirium, trivial steps follow the red river--now still, silent under the squinting sun that hung low overhead. Though the motion undeniable, the progression apocryphal, the aftermath was unequivocally impossible. Still, he proceeded ad nauseum. In the all-encompassing shadow of the elephantine mountain that loomed; a transitory omnipotence--judging.
Beyond that mountain... salvation. Assuredly. The marching man discerned that aghast reality from that paradisal state of mind--the heaven bound in the realm of the living, the breathing, the struggling. That idyll few among comrades were privy to; those undaunted by divine judgement. He wasn't persuaded in the denial of omnipotent divinity--no--aside from his partial to chasing the dragon, he was comme il faut.
Oh, how he implored the graces above--beseeched, begged; fell to his knees upon the muddening earth, soaked brown dirt red and black. Groveled in the stagnant, putrid stream--soaking its way deep into natures depths. That eau de vie: stolen, now a stain etched into the earth forevermore. Invoking absolvement, he cried out. Desperate. Though the winds stilled, the dead stream dried and the sun still scorched.
Deafened by his own pleading, still trapped in the mountainous shadow--that cloak of death which loomed, brooding, indecisive. His fate limpid, his mortal being drowned in an inescapable, inexorable hellscape.
Forever marching. Phantasmagorical streams leading a lone soldier to destinations unknown. Vast swathes of sun-burnt overgrowth, ceaseless jungles, unrelenting sunlight environing that menacing mountainous peak. Endless despair. The river-scorched-dry led to a drained sea, saturated earth drying--soldiers dead and dying.
That dead sea; wound among the gnarly trees, bestrewed upon that cursed, foreign ground. All he could do was fall to his knees; a coward submerged in the blood of martyrs--and pray.
"Oh Lord in Heaven, I know I have sinned. I have done more wrong than I have time to confess. I ask only for forgiveness. I seek only penance. I just want to atone for my sins before I die. I'll give every last breath to you. Every moment I live from now, I'll dedicate it to you, so please... please. I know I killed all them people and I'm sorry... I'm so sorry. And I know that I deserve to die more than anybody for what I've done--but I've got a sweetheart back home and she's got my baby... so please--please forgive me. Please give me guidance. Please lead me back home."
