Blood Stained

The broken bodies of his children lie before him. Along with those of others. But so few of the enemy. So few.
They stood. Drowning in a loss they deemed worth fighting for. No compromise. No other option. No sweet lament to stay the dead. Only a viscous cacophony of war coupled the wind, as it rolled over the battlefield of the dead.

He stood still. Unmoving. The wind tugging at his robe. His jaw was clenched tight, as was his fists. The foul, yet familiar stench of death crudely forced it’s way into his nostrils. And yet he stayed, unfazed and silent.
“You were supposed to help win the war.” A deep voice spoke behind him. “Does this look like we have won? Does it?” John said, anger welling up inside of him. “Look how many people lie here. Now. Because of you. Even YOUR people lay dead in front of you, and yet you stand unfazed.” The figure still stood silent. “You’re sick. The prophecy wasn’t real was it? You’re just an anomaly. A mistake. A black mark against nature.” Again, no reaction protruded from the robed figure that stood before him. “Fuck it. I’m outta here.”

John’s attitude had changed since the turning. He saw it more of a curse from which he was rudely forced into. Kayla also held this view. They both relished the new sensation of being undead. But both hated it just as much as they loved it. He had released them from his grasp. Saying that they did not have to remain with him for eternity. Perhaps a penance for what had happened to them. Because of his doing.

“Come Alex. We have much to do, and less time to do it in” Another figure, nearly identical in dressing said. Placing a hand comfortingly on his shoulder.
“Yes.” He whispered, and they left. Leaving nothing but a field too rotted for even a maggot to find residency in.