A waste, good virtues but too many ways they could be harmful. No one knew who the person was. Barren bones laid against a stone wall. He had won the battle. No one had known his name. The unnamed soldier. "Rest your weapons, let us pray!" "Keep your hopes up men!" --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Cracks of the whip fast as flashes of lightning. A hope like a red thread tethered around each finger. Her weapons in her bag, her hands full of thread. The thread wrapped around soldiers, hoping for a medic. Hoping for a chance. Their wives left behind on the drop of a hat. This wasn't their choice. It was the draft. Could they hear the distant screams, no one knows what became of the men. The gloom set over their souls. And the red thread dimmed. A song set around the campfire, a fire started by passion and desire. To keep the fuel running, surrounded by friends and family. Kept fueled by their ambition. Bandages couldn't fix the wound. Water couldn't fix the burns. Supplies was going to be there soon. Prayers to a god that they once knew. Praying got them out of the situation. Hoping to pray, that faith would save them once more. Dropped at the hat, the calls of names rolled off the general's tongue. Manny had left, seen their god. They would know paradise, while the rest of them lived down here. Hoping to get back to their families. Rats in the science project they were listed for. A mother's cry for her child was genuinely awful. The pained wretch as she would fall to her knees, begging for mercy. Begging for the king of them to reconsider. It was just for the original 'plan.' A crack of a whip as fast as lightning, children taken prisoner in other countries. Elected a hero when having planned to hide. It affected everyone when the soldiers fell. Coughing up a scarlet color. Their eyes grow barren as their soul transcended. When they saw their good they would smile. "I've made it to paradise! I did everything for you!" Only for their god to turn, raising an eyebrow. "You are just a man. I don't have the time to learn you personally." Cast aside for richer men and prestige dukes and daughters. For artists and inventors. No one had room for the dirty soldier and his act of heroism. The god needed that spotlight. The soldier needed to rot. As bells rang the people fell, down to the ground. The clouds were too fragile, and there was only so many. The population grew, and no one would know. Death crept upon them.
