All Was Violent

All was violent. All was bright. The sun shined down on the massacre, as if it was proud of the scene below. The epic battle waged on, and on. By now, two days after the event had begun, the remaining warriors had forgotten the reason why they had even started in the first place – the carnage was beginning to take a whole different toll on them, one that they didn’t foresee.

They slowly tottered past their fallen brothers, no longer able to hold back the visible cringe when they would see their mangled bodies, the cuts that were bone-deep, and their dried blood staining deep beneath the first layer of earth. Down, down below the stubble of crimson grass, the blood drenched through the compact soil till it reached the fiery core.

Though they were tired, starving, dehydrated, and suffering from several corporeal injuries, the brave soldiers fought on. They would let out powerful yapps as they charged at their next targets with every ounce of energy they had, temporary fueled by pure adrenaline, till finally their worn bodies gave in and collapsed to the ground with a painful thud.

They’d remain there, lying paralyzed on the bloodied floor, till Death himself would free them from the burning agony of carrying on; from living on this cruel world, with other’s who easily create such vile destruction.