The large guns were stationed, all over the dimly lit field. The dirty, dusty, open field. Before I even knew it, the Americans were firing violently to the other side. I stood, as guns, bullets, powder, and smoke clouded the field. I stood in the American side, watching bullets reach the other side, hitting them like rain, on a horrible, tragic day.
I looked at the other side, Austria Hungary. They were firing as well, but it wasn't as much as here, with the Americans. The small, little metallic spheres almost blinded the man in front of me.
Just standing, my own gun at my side, I stared at all of the combat, the battles of battles.
On my lips, I felt that silly smile I have. How could I not smile? The offending side, Austria, was losing men by the second. It looked like another almost clean win for the U.S.
Losing, wining, it really didn't matter any longer.
In my mind, the cries of the men were flowing through. Winning! We're winning! No! We're losing! John!! Bradey!! The names of fallen comrades were almost to the brim of my mental state. The last time I heard this many, was that dreadful American Civil War. That one was pretty bad.
I tried to imagine how I looked, among the "brave" soldiers. Just lill' ol' me, standing with my hand gun at my side. Not to mention my smile. In this battle, I was the only one smiling.
What am I smiling about anyways? Pretty much after this, Russia will drop out of the war. People -millions, of innocent people- will die, starving to death. So why am I smiling? Was it because of the death around me? Was I really that unstable?
Death was everywhere, in the trenches, on the fields, in the planes, or even at a loving home. It wasn't like I could go far back enough, to where there was no killing. What? It's true. Age of the pyramids- sacrifice. Same with the Mayans, and sometimes, even Romans, and Brittan. The age of people was still new, and had so much death. I am full of death.
Even if I was to go back before people, what would I see? Large animals, barbaric to the bone, ripping the skin off of the smaller ones. Their own kind, brothers and sisters in a way. That law, of life an others, was always ignored with supreme ultra egos though.
Flowing. Every death, child, adult, anything. They all flow into a huge death pot, eating at the core of the Earth. The worst part: I can't even tell them. If I could, they would stop fighting. All of the men, and women, would put their guns down, and get along for once, putting their differences aside, forgetting their past regrets. But I can't. They are leading to their own death, and I can't warn them, tell them their wronging. I can't save them, but with me, they can figure out how to save themselves. I just hope it's not too late before then. Too much death has come already.
I am special, I hold things together -provide reason.
I know it all, and how things went down -to the last detail.
I hold the key -the only key, to the future.
I keep the past my secret, living in others at the scene.
I... am History-the one that might end up saving them all.
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