I reason with the sun as it rises. Like locusts over a cornfield, the new light spreads over the open field of devastation. And it is here, in front of me I find myself surrounded with tragedy. Open wounds bleed black blood, the field littered with the bodies of thousands who have before me died. Look, at the man with pus pockets on his paled, bloated, waxy body. And that woman there her legs impaled together by the broken arrow of a savage man. And I inhale the putrid smells of the mass open grave, no flowers on headstones, no grieving tears. Just an open surgery without anesthetics.
I walk, over pus pockets, impaled carcasses and blue lips. I smell the decaying air, taste the iron from the human composite pit. I feel the lumps under my feet, crackling silently and I only feel alone. It’s time to break down, I swallow the vomit rising and hold back the tears. Inside my head I hear silent screams, I can feel something slipping away. I question, if that is humanity. Maybe it is something more. Maybe it is nothing.
This is a war after all.