• War, such a testament to great change. It never dies, it never sleeps, simply growing and feeding as the instinct behind a pissing contest. War, the almighty equalizer, where the miracle of heaven or a massacre from hell will always intertwine.

    A boy, with not a single moral understanding, no concept of death, becomes one with this epilogue which calls only in death's favor in the end. Who was this child? What gives him significance over billions of other children who perfectly fit this description? This boy to simply put it, lived through trials. His parents were loving and cared for their only child. The mother you see could only give him royalties of rice and bean sauce through selling her body. Ergo, everyone had their share of work, their father trading wares to tourists visiting the mother land with what little he could collect from junkyards and streets. Places where he could grab junk that could be sold as "antiques."

    One day, a truck came over. Another one stopped by, then another. Into the boy's little town. People were lined up or just mowed down by the sophisticated technology that was a pistol. A Beretta. A machete. After a while, it was time for his parent's to play. He watched under the floor boards with such pale eyes. Nothing went through his mind. Nothing made sense. Cold sweat ran into his left eye when both were reduced to staring outside without even one terrified blink. A shot fired. The boy tried looking for where he heard this sound, but couldn't see through black boots standing in between the spyglass which seemed to block out all sight. There was a quick scream afterwords and an even faster bullet sound followed. Suddenly, he was pulled by a large ebony-colored hand. Screaming out beyond the shattered landscape, he resisted with all the fury a child could muster and ran towards two bodies on the porch.

    This action was accompanied by a swift thrust into his chest by one of the occupying intruder's knee. And a rifle's butt end shoved downwards unto his skull. He held both parents with arms spread wide while the strange men took turns laying down punishment on the boy's back and head. They stopped for their apparent leader ordered them to. Instead, grave digging orders were handed out, a thousand and one graves for everyone who ceased movement. Taking out his saber, the towering, well built man swung it through the mother's neck. "Dig a half grave for her and let the child keep his price," enforced leader who carried the young prisoner cradling half a mother by his arm to a van.They drove away for hours.

    When the vans finally stopped, more soldiers appeared. Some laughed seeing the little one dragging along with lines of children in front and back of him. Still carrying. "What a fool, carrying his guilt around like that," snickered one man. "Can't even let go of a corpse? What good will he do to us if he can't even drop a dead-?" asked another whom kept his mouth shut as the tall man in a red hat from before passed by him.