Work Text:
The battlefield is so quiet now.
Sunlight shines upon the immense field and the horror lying there. Innumerable corpses lie scattered there under the scorching sun, but eyes will not turn away from its blinding light, it will not burn skins again.
Clouds idly float in the sky, birds chirp and fly around in the serene spring morning.
“I've never seen a sky so blue, nor heard the birds sing. There are no birds down there in the caves.”
Your comrade beside you rasps and you look at him: he is half dead, they left you here to keep him company during his passing.
You hold his hand, but do not speak: he cannot hear or see you, but he still feels your touch.
And you watch him. You examine his face, his expression, the way he lies, you concentrate on the feeling of his cold hand against yours, so thoroughly that you are quietly struck by the sensation of death approaching; not for you, but for him.
"It is what it is." You think and you do not feel helpless anymore. There is only pure, simple acceptance.
You accept war as it is: violence, brutality, fear, horror, death, survival. Life.
You look at your comrade in his final moment: a last spasm, a light widening of his eyes and he has calmed down, the light goes out from them and he exhales his last breath: he is dead.
Your gaze remains fixed, as if entranced, on him for an indefinite amount of time, then you turn to stare at the immense blue vault above.
Inhale. Exhale.
You realize you have never felt so alive.