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superjars -> Visions of Tragedy (5/28/2010 2:32:28)
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He looked out upon the battlefield, strewn with bodies as far as the eye could see. They were long dead but with no one left to bury them, they sat out in the open air, carrion birds soaring overhead, the stench of death and decay pungent to any who came near. It had been at least a year since this battle had occurred, and the bodies remained, unidentifiable now, but still easily recognized as human. The war had been a tragedy for both sides, and this field sat between the two opposing countries as a testament of that. Neither young nor old had been spared in the war, all conscripted and armed and sent to clash against the enemy over and over, until only a handful of people remained on either side. No conflict was worth the loss of life that this field represented.
Each of the bodies had their own stories: the reasons they fought, who they were fighting for, how they died. He began to walk silently through the bodies, taking great care to avoid stepping on any of them. As he walked, he threw his gaze left and right, looking from body to body, obvious to any onlooker to be searching for something. But what he could be looking for in this barren, desiccated land was anybody's guess. Regardless of what he was looking for, he moved forward with measured, confident steps, each one carrying him deeper into the carnage that now surrounded him on all sides. The bodies grew closer together as he moved further in and he was forced to move slower, to take smaller steps, to watch each step before he took it.
This man could be anything.
A scavenger, searching the dead for precious metals and trinkets, perhaps a few unspent bullets or knives. The scavengers had been the first group to breach this battlefield several months after the war had ended, coming to profit from what they found on the dead, sold to the highest bidder. But the man's clothes were clean and pressed, hanging lightly from his form with an air of importance and command.
A scientist then, searching for the mysteries of the human body and mind. After scavengers had picked the battlefield clean, these men and women had come in droves, setting up equipment and conducting experiments. But none could answer the most basic questions of why this tragedy had happened and slowly, one by one they left, taking their experiments back to those still living. But the man had no equipment with him, and if he were running some kind of experiment here, it was not evident what he searched for.
A businessman perhaps, hoping to find some way to reuse or profit upon the pain and suffering of those who had died. Many had come with ideas to pave this place and build upon it, or to create a path through here to connect the two countries, but no one had given them any money for the projects and they soon grew tired of trying and went to build elsewhere. But he was not searching for a path through, or checking to see where it would be smart to build.
A pilgrim likely, coming to find peace with the fact that he was alive while so many were dead. Perhaps there was some loved one that he was searching for, some friend or parent who had perished in the war. More likely, he just sought to be amongst the dead, to feel their pain, to mourn their loss and occasionally to join their ranks. Many found that they could not comprehend the devastation which had befallen mankind because of this war, nor could they live with the new world that they were presented with. Their struggle ended, alone and in tears, amongst those who went before them. But this man did not carry any weapon, nor did he shed a tear.
He stopped walking at this point, moving to push a shaking hand through his slicked back hair. He stared down at one of the bodies, lines of pain etched all over his face. Upon closer examination, the tracks of past tears could be seen coursing over his face, but there were no tears in them today. His grief was coming to an end and this place would be like a healing balm. He reached his left hand into the pocket of his pants and his right into the inside of his jacket. He pulled both out and looked down to stare at the only objects he had left in the world. In his left hand, nestled within the long creases of his hand, sat a small silver ring, polished bright as the day it was formed. He looked over to his other hand and held there was a single red rose, red as the blood shed on this field, standing bright and opposing against the gray background of his surroundings.
He looked down at the body which lay mangled beneath him, pressed between other bodies as if they protected it from those laid around it. He bent down slowly, careful not to touch any of the other bodies, until he was kneeling in front of the body. He took the rose first, pushing the stem of it into the dead soil beside the body. It sunk deep into the soil, standing before the body in stalwart glory. It grew roots, which searched deep into the earth, finally finding a spot to latch on to and get its needed sustenance. Next, he took the ring from his left and pressed it into the ground in front of the rose, leaving it as a memorial for all to see who might follow in his footsteps.
Now that both hands were empty, the man had only one task left to complete. He moved his hands forward, inching them around the other bodies and placed them on the side of the body. He felt a rush, energy pouring out of his body and into the corpse before him. He closed his eyes slowly, but instead of growing dark, his vision expanded. The stillness and silence which had surrounded him before now was replaced with a loud roar of sounds. Where before he had smelt only death and decay, now there was the smells of flowers and sweat.
She looked out upon the field that surrounded her, white flowers in full bloom, an army to her back and another facing her from across the way. The sounds of men yelling and horses braying nearby told her that her men and women were ready to go. She strode confidently and brashly out to meet with the opposing general making his way from the other side. To her probing eye, he did not appear confident in the least; in fact, he seemed quite the opposite, timorous and afraid. She came to meet him, speaking in hushed tones, giving the opportunity to surrender. She saw nervous glances shoot from the young general, and several dark, heavy heads shaking in the distance. The enemy was refusing to give up, against the wishes of this young general. She smirked to herself slowly, reveling in the coming combat. She turned quickly on her heel and marched quickly back to her army, nodding to them as she approached. The men knew exactly what to do.
A gasp flew from the man's lungs as he stumbled back to reality, his hands releasing their grasp and rising from the corpse. This was the one he had been looking for, the confident woman so bent on destruction; the woman that he had, at first glance, fallen in love with. His hands trembled before him, his mind raced with the images he had seen, images from what seemed like another life. He could still feel her emotions: the thrill of imminent battle, the energy which bubbled up in her with ferocity and ire. And a deeper emotion, a budding respect for her opponent, who saw the battle opening before him and knew he could not win, but following orders to the end. He closed his eyes tightly, pushing away the strangeness of this event, once again reaching out to place his hands on the corpse.
She was rushing towards the enemy, running with the grace of a hundred horses. Her first lines followed directly behind her, knowing not to surpass the huntress when she smelt her prey. A feral grin spread over her face, her eyes narrowing and body coiling as she sprinted ahead towards the charging line of her foe. She stared past the line, taking note of the faces who had been shaking before, all lined up in the back of their force, “safe” from the battle. She marked each one for a dishonorable death in her mind, cowards that they were. One face was missing from the assembled men, however. She searched up through the army, searching for the face of the young general who had met her in the midst of the middle of the field. And then he was there, in front of the opposing force, charging directly towards her. The grin on her face became wider as she marked this man for an honorable death, in the midst of battle.
As he transitioned back to reality, the silence around him was even more intense than before. He was panting for breath, flooded with conflicting emotions, torn apart by the memories of the woman who now lay before him, only a shell of who she once was. The ferocity of her charge, the feelings of being truly alive, truly in the moment; all of these were more than he had ever felt before. He clenched his teeth tightly, the tremors of his hands now moving throughout his entire body. And yet he could see, clearer than ever before, that he needed to complete this journey, to know the truth. He reached out again, bracing himself for the end.
She clashed with the young general, steel ringing off of steel, bodies flailing past each other. She circled him again and again, not giving up an inch of her position. Around her, the rest of the soldiers pushed back and forth, bodies falling to the ground with mortal wounds, never to rise again. Her adrenaline pumped through her body and her blood lust rose in her breast. The battle with this young man was evenly matched and as they continued fighting with one another, the respect she felt for the young man began to transform inside of her into a love for him. He was brave, intelligent and a fearsome fighter, but there was something else within him. He had a determination, a bright light within him that would not be extinguished, even if he was killed.
She fought with him for an eternity and then an opening presented itself: he caught his foot on the edge of a buckler lying near his feet and with a few quick motions, she had relieved him of his weapon. The man simply grinned back at her, as if he had no care in the world. He was relaxed and poised, the nervousness from before disappearing in the heat of battle. She hesitated. Only for a moment, a second of indecision, but it was more than she could afford. A woman ran up, young and inexperienced, and as she stood there, frozen in place and staring into the eyes of the young general, the woman stabbed her in the side, puncturing her lung. As if in slow motion, she sank to her knees and began to fall backwards. And suddenly, the man was there, holding her in his arms, whispering some nonsensical words in her ears, silent tears streaming down his face. She looked up at him, the feral grin spreading over her face, her hand reaching up to gently caress her face before falling lifeless to the ground.
He wrenched away, entire body slick with sweat, hands trembling at his sides. He had found the truth, the reality of a love that was stripped away because of a war he had never wanted to fight. That battle had gone on long after this incident and he had been one of only a few who had survived the slaughter. Neither side came away with a win that day, and it was shortly after that the rival countries had come to the table of peace and stopped the war with a treaty. Shaking with fury, the man bent his head down, placing his forehead against the decaying flesh of the woman who had meant the world to him, the woman he had only known for a few moments. The woman who had been taken from him by war's fateful hand. As the two flesh touched, he felt a spark of energy: his eyes fell closed, his breathing slowed and stopped, and he slumped down on top of her. Now they could be together.
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