Alone With A Warzone

The world around him appeared like hell on earth; the grass no longer showing due to the torrential rain, bombs and shells attacking it through the days and nights. Clouds were closing in on him, threatening to suffocate and intoxicate him in their wrath. Singing-loudly seemed to be the only real aspect of comfort, filling the painful silence of the deserted war-zone. His hands were bearing, eyes as sharp as knives making sure nothing dragged him to hell. Hearing blocked, covered by the strong sound of white noise that torment him, smell clear but weak by the gun powder and smell of poisonous blood that brings nausea and a shiver through his cracked spine.

The dead atmosphere made me shiver and the howling wind sorrowfully cried around us. We walked towards the large oak tree and the crackling of leaves underfoot, brought back the sound of the camp-fire before hell became reality. Destroying landscapes and families but most importantly our brothers lives. I looked carefully around the area for some sign like a hawk stalking its prey, for some happiness or hope, but instead I saw only dark and emptiness. The war-zone was a desolate piece of charred, blackened earth and plants, memories, home itself was destroyed by a black death fire.

Then suddenly, we were all being mobbed, bullets pelting us hundreds at a time, slaughtering us like sheep whilst we weren't expecting it. We should have known but... We didn't... and we were fighting shadows. Ten of us were already dead before we knew what happened.

In the distance, a raven crowed. It sat upon a broken tree stump, which resembled a gravestone and starred at us curiously. I inhaled deeply and the awful, chocking air forced its way into my lungs and replaced the air, like death replacing life.

War does not determine who is Right- only who is Left.