Lily
◕ ‿‿ ◕ double rainbow.
- 3,328
- Posts
- 20
- Years
- New Joisey
- Seen Jan 14, 2025
[Might be PG 13 for some description/words that might be offensive, but I highly doubt that.] ^.^
Johnny is dead.
The enemy got him. I see his bulging eyes gazing out helplessly, stained with crimson trickling down his forgotten uniform. His face is contorted in unimaginable terror, parched mouth hanging open lifelessly. He looks a bit odd slanted against the concrete wall. Thick patches of dried blood are caked over his entire body, and I realize; he has no arms.
Lying next to him is a limp canteen. I ignore his plaintive glare as I hastily swipe it up, receiving only a mere trickle of warm water sliding down my throat. I feel Johnny stare at me. With a scowl, the deprived container is clattered onto the ground, reminding me of how empty it is.
?You?re dead,? I say flatly, emotionless. He does not answer me.
Showers of golden rays brush down the dusty ground. I had found Johnny leaning against a demolished building, perhaps seeking shelter from the beating sun.
The enemy, I realize grimly. The enemy must have found him.
I dwell in obscurity in fear of being discovered by them. A soldier must never succumb to the offensive ones, no matter how difficult. To win, you must end it quickly. Closing my eyes, I remember my country had steadily emasculated until ready for obliteration, but that had been where chaos had struck. A human being?s pride was too strong to let a country wash away. They would fight or die with honor.
The enemy?s fault, I convince myself. They look at us with abhorrence dripping from their greedy eyes, penetrating the innocence of one. They act as if they are the dominant human beings. I sigh at this whole complexity of relationships.
The air has a bitter taste to it. My mouth scrutinizes and spits out a glob of saliva, wetting the dirt crusted ground. Multiple hues of orange contrasts sharply against the pastel blue sky. The day, I notice, is going to end soon. I despise the adversity of life, but this world is not Utopia, nor will it ever be. Hatred among all those other things would always be a part of imperfection.
I shake my head to rid the foolish thoughts on philosophical things. I nod as my condolences to the dead man who had fought, and lost, wasting his life away on a barren, isolated land. To imagine the people he might have affected...
I wonder if Johnny had a wife. I frown, before receiving second thoughts, by observing his hidden face beneath the mass of red.
Youth.
Johnny had been a youth, not past his adolescence, but near it. Even through his mask of suffering, the young age is evident. He still carries the curious flicker of vivacity within his eyes, and the structure of his face reveals he had not reached man. I ponder on the determination, oblivious to the subtle pain, before sighing. My face is either in sorrow or annoyance. Perhaps even both.
?Foolish boy,? I mutter with aggression, clenching my fists. ?You should?ve stayed home and studied your books, helped your parents who?s probably mourning for you now, go out, have a girlfriend, a life!? I laugh. It is a strange, hollow laugh emitted from the deepest pits of my throat. Even my own voice startles me.
I vaguely make out the distant slopes representing mountains. Damn Johnny. Damn him for fighting, risking his life for another one of mankind?s many controversies. To what did it lead? A compromise? Solutions? No, just death.
Loud, obscured voices reach me. They are unmistakably belonged to men, and a large quantity of men. The enemy! I make no effort to move. Seeing a dead body is enough, and I do not wish to cause more.
I hiccup, and laugh. The enemies win. They always have.
Johnny stares at me, his mouth dryly hanging open. It reminds me of the canteen next to him, and how empty, empty it is laying there.
Johnny is dead.
The enemy got him. I see his bulging eyes gazing out helplessly, stained with crimson trickling down his forgotten uniform. His face is contorted in unimaginable terror, parched mouth hanging open lifelessly. He looks a bit odd slanted against the concrete wall. Thick patches of dried blood are caked over his entire body, and I realize; he has no arms.
Lying next to him is a limp canteen. I ignore his plaintive glare as I hastily swipe it up, receiving only a mere trickle of warm water sliding down my throat. I feel Johnny stare at me. With a scowl, the deprived container is clattered onto the ground, reminding me of how empty it is.
?You?re dead,? I say flatly, emotionless. He does not answer me.
Showers of golden rays brush down the dusty ground. I had found Johnny leaning against a demolished building, perhaps seeking shelter from the beating sun.
The enemy, I realize grimly. The enemy must have found him.
I dwell in obscurity in fear of being discovered by them. A soldier must never succumb to the offensive ones, no matter how difficult. To win, you must end it quickly. Closing my eyes, I remember my country had steadily emasculated until ready for obliteration, but that had been where chaos had struck. A human being?s pride was too strong to let a country wash away. They would fight or die with honor.
The enemy?s fault, I convince myself. They look at us with abhorrence dripping from their greedy eyes, penetrating the innocence of one. They act as if they are the dominant human beings. I sigh at this whole complexity of relationships.
The air has a bitter taste to it. My mouth scrutinizes and spits out a glob of saliva, wetting the dirt crusted ground. Multiple hues of orange contrasts sharply against the pastel blue sky. The day, I notice, is going to end soon. I despise the adversity of life, but this world is not Utopia, nor will it ever be. Hatred among all those other things would always be a part of imperfection.
I shake my head to rid the foolish thoughts on philosophical things. I nod as my condolences to the dead man who had fought, and lost, wasting his life away on a barren, isolated land. To imagine the people he might have affected...
I wonder if Johnny had a wife. I frown, before receiving second thoughts, by observing his hidden face beneath the mass of red.
Youth.
Johnny had been a youth, not past his adolescence, but near it. Even through his mask of suffering, the young age is evident. He still carries the curious flicker of vivacity within his eyes, and the structure of his face reveals he had not reached man. I ponder on the determination, oblivious to the subtle pain, before sighing. My face is either in sorrow or annoyance. Perhaps even both.
?Foolish boy,? I mutter with aggression, clenching my fists. ?You should?ve stayed home and studied your books, helped your parents who?s probably mourning for you now, go out, have a girlfriend, a life!? I laugh. It is a strange, hollow laugh emitted from the deepest pits of my throat. Even my own voice startles me.
I vaguely make out the distant slopes representing mountains. Damn Johnny. Damn him for fighting, risking his life for another one of mankind?s many controversies. To what did it lead? A compromise? Solutions? No, just death.
Loud, obscured voices reach me. They are unmistakably belonged to men, and a large quantity of men. The enemy! I make no effort to move. Seeing a dead body is enough, and I do not wish to cause more.
I hiccup, and laugh. The enemies win. They always have.
Johnny stares at me, his mouth dryly hanging open. It reminds me of the canteen next to him, and how empty, empty it is laying there.