A/N: Yeah, I know. I should really write my own stuff, but I can't get enough of writing song-fics. A bit more of my own dialogue in this one though, some of my opinions on war are not-so-subtly concealed within. Anyway, I've had this one in my head for a while now. I do hope you enjoy, and please remember that this is truly applied to what is going on today.
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The morning mist rose like fog over a graveyard.
The scent of death hung heavy on the air. Across the street, the church bells pierced the air, seeming like peals of sorrow from God Himself. Rain from the day before had done little to wash the blood that now stained the cobblestone street.
Quiet talk came upon the scene of tragedy then. A group of women, huddled together in a corner by the curbside, stood looking about.
"I remember seeing them, going off to fight." A woman said. "These children...children of the barricade, it seems."
"They didn't even last out the night..."
"Look at them!" One pointed, her voice hushed. "Lying just where they died. No one's come to claim them. God's taken them so soon."
One of the younger women, a baby on her hip, shook her head. "Forgotten. I suspect they never thought of those who used to cradle them..." she kissed her baby's forehead. "Or kiss them when they slept at night."
"Just lying side by side..."
A girl shrugged her mother's skirts. "Who will wake them, Maman?"
"No one, love. No one ever will."
One woman picked up a tri-color flag, long forgotten in the fray. It was torn and ragged. "Seems no one ever told them a summer's day could kill." she muttered.
"They were just schoolboys!" one shouted to the heavens. A tear slipped down her pale cheek, but she wiped it away. Her next words were solemn and quiet, only a wisp of a memory. "...never held a gun..."
"Who were they? They thought they were fighting for some new world." another said dubiously. "But where's this new world now, when all the fighting's done? What have they fought for, if anything but their graves?"
One of the more brazen women approached the scene of livid death, throwing her hands up. "Nothing changes!" she said. "Everything just one turning circle."
"Same old story." someone added.
The woman rolled over one of the dead boys with her foot. She showed no emotion, having long ago lost her affection for anything. "What's the use for tears? Or praying? Especially when no body listens to you?"
The young mother crossed herself.
"Who's to take them now?" the older woman continued. She stopped in front of a huge red flag that had fallen forgotten onto the street. It had a bullet hole in it and was splattered with blood. Angrily she picked it up and shook it at the other women. "Worthless! This fighting. What did it get them, except for a seat in hell?"
The women turned their heads, knowing that their companion was right, but unwilling to say it.
"Minutes, into hours...and hours into years. Nothing changes! Nothing ever can."
There was silence. In the distance, the church bells continued to peal out their sorrowful message. The older woman dropped the flag, letting it fall from her hands listlessly.
"Round and round...and back to where we began."