The view was prepossessing. Rain descended upon the vast wasteland, colliding with the infuriated faces that paddled through the dirt. Thunder lectured the land, the land lectured its inhabitants, and they lectured each other.
The flesh of time and space was denatured, as battle cries sparked through the night, dancing in the cold threads of air. Anarchy laughed, Catastrophe grinned and Armageddon stood proud, as the land was drowned in sweat and blood.
Hell had descended upon mankind.
A mortar shell glided through the freezing atmosphere, calmly coming in contact with the ground, and with its warm touch, inviting death to wherever it journeyed. Gunfire could be heard from far off, until it came penetrating through the air into your heart.
The beating stopped. Sudden realization kept the mind in confusion and suspense as the legs lost control and balanced off of the ground. The firing was still in play. Slowly, the hands were forgotten about, and with a last calm breath, eternal sleep overcame the martyr.
By now the sun had peeked over the horizon. It was beautiful.
The men were in a state of control. They ravaged through the stream of blood and dirt. They were blind, yet their faith was ocular. They didn’t hear the screams of those they killed, but their weapons did. They couldn’t breathe in the smell of fresh blood… But victims could.
The scene was calm for one moment, and savage for the other. The weather stood proud, the clouds cried, the atmosphere felt threatened and the mood was energizing.
The battlefield was a playground to those who believed, a walk in the part for those destined to die. Everyone was joyous, only the fruitful reward governing their mind.
… Yet no one lived to tell the tale.