You sit there, in the middle of the battlegrounds, where bodies once lay dead and where blood was spilled. You clutch at the grasses beneath you, feeling the deceitfully soft blades of grass. You fought here, once upon a time, during the war so many years ago. You still suffer from nightmares and visions of it, you still remember Ed, who ran in smiling as he faced death. You remember the enemy soldiers, the two partners, who died side by side as you shot them down, with only one thought in mind: "You can't have friends on the front lines."749Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡL10HC6ZSSx
You shiver, feeling a drop of rain on the tip of your nose. One drop becomes two, then three. Suddenly, it's a downpour. You still don't move though, your gaze locked on the ground, tears mixing with rain. Your vision blurs. Rain mixes with blood, and you cry out in agony, tearing the grass up and screaming at the heavens. You can't have friends on the front lines.
You fall back into the muddy ground, the breath sucked from your lungs as rain pours into your eyes. You miss Ed, your best friend in the war, the one who always cracked the jokes and made light of even the darkest of things, the one who got you laughing, the one of made fun of you, the one who treated you as a real brother right up until the point he was gunned down and left ignored by his brawling comrades. Sobs escape your mouth. "You can't have friends on the front lines..." you choke out, then repeat the line several times over.749Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGoUnkRA2qr
You tear off pieces of cloth covering your arm and stare at your wrists. "Ed" is tattooed there, just above the self-inflicted scars you gave yourself, unwittingly, when the war was over and left you wishing you were dead. Dead and back with Ed.
You just wish you had never gone to war, because in one way or another, it killed you.
749Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGOpx1n06aG
