Someone is coming, rounding the corner, killing the silence, laughter echoes in the background, the sky is barren, empty and lifeless, mirroring the plains below carpeted by the dead, the husbands, the fathers, the brothoers and the sons of our country, of the world, their faces frozen into expressions of terror, fear and pain; millions dead, both armies utterly and completely eradicated. Except for use, Standing there in the middle of all this war. Us, the only two left standing, and her hair is swaying in the silent winds of death. There is not sounds of life, the only sounds at all are the faint echoes of our breathing. It seems inappropriate to say or do anything. Afraid to break the silence, afraid to disturb the dead. What horror caused this utter devastation. The sky a dusty brown, the ground, stained red by all the blood. And there we stand, completely unaffected by any of this. The white of my shirt seems out of place against all this greybrownblack of death; surrounding us; a little island of life amidest all the destruction. Even the grass is gone, the trees are rotting and suddenly, she is gone; once again I am left all alone, with no hope.