I was just a laborer when the war broke out, doing whatever I could to earn my pay to eat. I lived a lonely life, my best friend having died while we travelled the continent and my lover showing their true colours, only caring for themself. All I really had left was my mother, who I hadn't seen since I ran away to travel with my best friend.

The day we were attacked, I woke up in the ruins of my city, soldiers everywhere, building crumpling to the artillery fire. I awoke in a new world, surrounded by flames, everything I loved, gone.

Shortly after that, I was drafted into the army. Training was hasty and uninformative. We were taught just enough to narely function.

The first battle my squadron was involved in was also the last... it was a massacre. I was the only survivor. The only way I was able to survive was by hiding under the corpses of my fallen allies. That's not to say I got away unharmed, however. I was shot twice, once in the shoulder, and once in my right leg.

After the enemies moved away from our position, I waited for what felt like an eternity. After I was positive they were gone, I made my move.

I crawled out from the pile of corpses and crawled for about 30 meters. Shortly after I started moving, it began to snow. It was getting colder by the minute.

As I continued walking away, I began to lose feeling in my limbs. I was freezing. By this point, I had lost feeling in my face. All I could feel was a burning sensation that comes with the cold. This, combined with the echoing of gunshots in my head and thinking about what had just happened, watching them fall rhythmically...

The steady burst of snow was burning my hands- I felt as if I were frozen to the bone. Around this time, I was getting tired... as if I knew I were about to die, and accepted it. My country had shaped me in a furious rage due to unwarrented, and I am now beimg forced to pay the price. I sat down, leaning against a rock, coated in the snow that tortured me.

My thoughts wondered to the last time I was in my home city. I distinctly remembered a refugee telling another life was worth the fight- though given what had just happened, it seemed moreso that it was him trying to pretend. At this point, even if life were worth fighting for, there was no possible way I could survive, given the climate and my injuries.

As I thought about my current predicament, my thoughts quickly turned to my mother. She'd never know what happened to me. She'd been waiting for a letter from me for years... I couldn't help but to feel bad. I tried to remember what she looked like, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't recall the loving look in her eyes, let alone her face.

I slowl drift into a sleep, having lost the will to fight. Death's embrace felt akin to a cold hand on my shoulder.

Author's NoteEdit

This story is inspired by the songs "Ghost Lights" and "Iron" by Woodkid, alongside other songs from his album "The Golden Age". That being stated, much like the rest of my works, this is in no way intended to be the least bit frightening, but rather a short story based around the song. Details are intentionally kept vague, allowing for the reader to project themselves into the shoes of the narrator more, similar to a silent protagonist in a video game.

~ Kiyoshi 21:26, July 11, 2016 (UTC)

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