Sentiment of Sarrow

A single flower rises from the cold, clammy muck, its delicate petals reaching for the warmth of the sun. All around it lay the broken and mangled bodies of men, some in blue, and others in grey, mute testimony to the folly of war.

 Their youthful faces are contorted by the horror that they felt in their last moments on this earth and my heart grows heavy at the sight of them.

 We are told to hate them because their beliefs differ from ours and in the heat of combat, it is easy to do so, but when the guns have finally been silenced and the only sound that remains is the stillness of death, then and only then do you realize that lying before you is not some monster bent on destroying the world that you know, but someone’s father or son.

 I feel my sanity start to slip then and I quickly bring all my focus to bear on the flower that rises before me. Its petals, blowing gently in the breeze are yellow around the edges with stems of dark green and a round spot of blood red in the center that somehow seems fitting for this place and this day. It knows no hate or prejudice, no pain or sorrow; it exists simply for the sake of existing. It is beautiful and I long for its carefree way of life.

 “Lock and Load”, I hear the command shouted along the ranks and feel once more the sour taste of bile rising in my throat. They will come through the trees again very soon, grey clad wraiths screaming insults with hate in their eyes and blood in their hearts and once more, the senseless extermination will resume.

 I hear the angry whine of bullets even before I hear the shouts and instinctively raise my rifle, my trained eye searching for the culprits. I spot a boy, probably no older than twenty coming towards me, his raven hair flying out behind him, a look of determination and fear vying for dominance on his face and am struck by how much he looks like my son. He runs towards me, awkwardly trying to load at the same time and I know that I can drop him any time I choose.

 Once more instinct takes over and I raise my rifle, aiming carefully down the sight. I calm my breathing and gently begin to take up slack on the trigger, and freeze. Once I believed in this war and what we fought for, but that was many years and many bodies ago and I am not the naive boy that I was then.

 

Sighing heavily, I drop my rifle at my feet and sit down in the bloody mess that surrounds me. Taking my eyes off the boy, I look over at the flower standing so stalwart beside me and smile, “it truly is beautiful”, I think to myself.

 From the corner of my eye I see the boy drawing nearer, only now he has been joined by friends and each has that same look of hungry determination. I sigh heavily once more and close my eyes. I am tired, bone weary and it feels good to rest. Soon, I will be as free as the blessed petals that bloom before me.

 I hear their labored breathing as they rush foreword to end my long suffering and I bend down to breathe the scent of the flower into my soul. “Free”, I whisper softly, and then all goes dark.

Reviews

[xNote_to_selfx]

wow this was really good. I can't believe I'm the only one to review it! The detail in this really puts an image in my mind, and the character's thoughts are very believeable. Over all, it's a very nice write :)