The dead and dying lie here in the thousands.

In rows they cry out to their supposed saviors in one last effort to believe. A choir of godless men howling toward the heavens, hoping to be heard.

The field upon which they cry has a foul stench to it. An all too familiar smell of blood, sweat and ignorance. In the distance a soldier crawls to find his foot and hugs it as if reunited with an old friend. Something resembling hope floats through the air, only to fly away and leave the poor soldier stranded in his solitude.

The real horror is what’s happening inside the minds of these petty little boys whom now realize they’ve been played. Inside their skulls they are experiencing the very last realization to hit a dying man before his downfall. The one that no living being has yet to escape from. Knowing that the clock has run its course and there is nothing behind the closed curtain. Nothing for the man who cannot convince himself that there is someone behind all this pain. Nothing for the poor soul who was never told there is an option. Nothing for us who want to believe but cannot.