As the Sun dims, the moon engulfes the battlefield with a bloody hue.
The smell of old decay and new slaughter filled the air.
As the last two stand.
One falls.
The other in silence.
As the body of an old friend reaches the ground,
the ground where everything else had fallen.
It wasn't his first time he got blood on his hands,
but it wasn't as fulfilling as he thought it would be.
The toll had taken effect, his madness certain. He slowly paced the endless waste, slowly counting every step.
A day passed.
He plucks a hair, he plucks a hair, he plucks a hair, maybe he had lost count.
A week passed.
The tears that filled his eyes had dried.
A month passed.
Time is still as he walks.
A year has passed.
It exists.
later
As he finally sees the light,
his dry lips barely able to utter a word, "Again."