War

I gazed out at the war torn land before me. There was nothing left of the once beautiful rolling hills. Blood, bodies and entrails distorted what had once been my homeland. We had fought a senseless war.
There was no purpose.
Nothing had been gained.
The only thing we had succeeded in doing was destroying ourselves, killing our brethren and wiping out our home.
I wanted to fall to the ground and cry.
I had abandoned my children, my family, for something that in the end had not mattered.
There had been no winner.
I walked amongst the dead, trying to ignore the pungent stink of blood and decay. The locket my daughter had given me felt cold and heavy against my breast. What would I tell my son when he asked about the horrible things I had seen?
Could I lie to him and tell him we made the right decisions?
That we were righteous when all we had succeeded in doing was committing mass genocide.
I stopped by a still pool of water, now polluted with the blood of my ‘foes’ and upon looking into the stagnant pool I saw my own terrible reflection.
My long hair matted with blood, my face bloody and battle weary, my armor dented and my sword covered in gore.
I fell to my knee’s discarding my weapon and trying to cover my face, hiding away from what I saw.
What had I become?
I had murdered for a cause that seemed so small in retrospect to the lives I had taken, the children who would now be orphans, and the parents who would be childless. I had destroyed so many families for something that in the end had not mattered and the realization was a cold mass in the pit of my stomach.
I tore off the soiled armor, wanting to be rid of the evidence of my horrible sins. I clutched the locket as bitter tears cut through the grime on my face.
My sweet girl.
My brave son.
This was their legacy.
An empire of dirt.
A liars throne.