A Short Story (and other literature) Collection

#2

The grass smells red with blood. I looked down, the metallic scent attacking my nose. Bodies to be shipped back home, but were delayed from the lack of resources. Flies were beginning to gather, soon maggots will erupt forth in the bodies.

My tennis shoes were beginning to soak with blood but I didn't mind. They were old anyways. The blood was still warm. Why was I here? My legs brought me anywhere I'd never thought I'd go. Trying to feel tired, cancelling out the other, more painful feelings.

I didn't feel sad for them. I don't know why. I guess I never felt much empathy for things that would never respond to my touch. There was no use feeling empathy for souls who have already lost. I can't help them. Why would I feel sorry for such a fact?

I wondered about their last moments. Getting shot down by the enemy, whoever the enemy were. Maybe some of the "enemy" were also here. I tried looking for something to distinguish between them, another gun type, armor design, logos, flags. But as I looked for them, the carcasses blurred together.

They were all just dead soldiers now.