You could look left and right, as far as the eye could see, and see citizens that had a reason to be where they were now, whether it be a handful or just one. But you would see them.
Alfred really didn't know which it was, all he knew was that those people were miserable; that this visit the memorial was like a vacation from hiding their emotions everyday, twenty-four seven, from those around them. It was tough keeping a happy face on all day whenever the death of a loved one haunts you everyday ever since their death on the battlefield.
There were women who stood with a brave yet faltering face as they stared and read over their dead husband's name, over and over; there were women who took a single glance at the name, and burst into a rage of sobs, and Alfred would watch as they quietly covered their mouth with shaking hands, sinking to the ground in the process and leaning upon the large, thick granite for support. Men would bow their heads in respect with a quivering lip, while some stood stiff and rigid in one spot, fists clentched together in a prayer, knuckles touching their foreheads.
Alfred shifted his eyes to the large wall that towered over his head. Hundreds of names were scratched neatly into the smooth marble, so, so many. It amazed Alfred how such a beautiful thing could hold so many horrific and not-yet-forgotten pasts, so much death, so much grief.
Tilting his head up, he stares up at the top of the wall, gloved fingers curling into his palm as his hands rose, tucking into his jacket pockets for whatever warmth was to be provided, mid-winter temperatures at fault. His breath billowed in puffy, light grey clouds in front of his face with each exhale, blue eyes set upon the engraved names.
There were stories behind each and every name. Alfred's hands shifted, and his fingers found a metallic chain in his pocket, wrapping around it and tucking it into the warmth of his palm.
He could feel the dogtags were cold through his glove, despite being in his pocket. Those tags had his name on them. Once he could, he was going to do what he always wanted.
He wanted to be a fighter pilot.
Everyone had a special keepsake, and this was his; he wanted to be remembered, he wanted to protect, just as every other name of those lost in the war engraved upon this war, set in stone and here to stay for ages to come.