The chord ranges behind a shoulder. The shoulder once belonged to a person, a young and vibrate man, with perhaps baby blue eyes and cheeks an aunt with too much perfume enjoyed squeezing. Who loved to play pool with friends, getting drunk on weekends (though underage) and thought only of the positives of his life, knowing nothing could ever happen. He'd ignore the nightly new emphasizing the horrors thousands miles away. Until he decided enough was enough, decided to join the fighting thinking he'd make a difference.
Now there are only pieces left, unrecognizable, burned from the flames. Only the shoulder remains in the mess of destruction, blood ankles deep, and no one has time to grieve for that blue eyed boy.