The sounds of gunshots surrounded the battlefield. Screams of falling soldiers and the metallic smell of blood filled the air. Spain was in the middle of this place. He fought for his life and carefully attacked his enemies with the weaponry he had on his person. The years of experience in battle paid off and he found he was winning when out of the blue came a small child running amongst the death ridden landscape. This youngster weaved his way through the crowd. Suddenly, he stopped and looked at the Spanish man who was staring back at him. His focus was solely on the eight year old and he approached quickly. He picked up the child and held him tightly as he ran from the scene. Those on the battle field dared not attack him, for the little tyke was innocent and had nothing to do with the war.
He placed the child on the outskirts of the village and told him to stay hidden. The youngster only looked and seemed to be paying attention. Antonio's cape slowly flowed with the direction of the wind and he left swiftly, going back to face death. The Italian child watched intently and decided to follow without Antonio's acknowledgement. The battle raged onwards and the tyke continued for the center. Antonio fought, a bit distracted as to how the minor had even managed to get into the center of the battlefield and why he was there. He looked over his shoulder and saw the child again. A shot was heard and blood soaked the Italian's shirt marking his right breast. Antonio's eyes widened and he jerked away from his opponent, ran towards him, and held the tiny and fragile body close to his. The body grew colder and the battle around them ceased.
The young child reached up with his right hand towards Antonio's head. Antonio removed his Conquistador hat and placed it on his. The youngster laughed a bit and smiled at the sky, slowly losing his consciousness. Antonio stroked the tyke's hair back and tried to make it as comfortable as he could. Those around him looked around as if searching for the one who had pulled the trigger. Those searching eyes continued their mission as Antonio did his. This eight year old in his arms seemed almost confused and lost, but happy and smiling at his presence. He was simply in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and with the ignorance and curiosity that lead to his death.
Antonio carried the child into the village from whence he had left him. He carried the limp body that wore a white nightdress and went door to door asking to whom he belonged. He searched for what seemed like an eternity. No one knew this child nor had they ever seen him before. He found a nearby hay stack on the outside of a store and placed theyoungster gently there. The deceased kid appeared to be beautiful in his resting stage, but was still a great loss none the less. He had seen so many deaths on the battlefield that hadn't phased him in the slightest, but the visage of this one had done him in. He stroked the hair of the deceased gently, took the cross that hung from his neck, prayed, and placed it around the child's neck.
He heard a soft muffle from underneath a small bridge nearby and arose from his kneeling position. He walked over towards it and ventured underneath it. There, sitting cold and wet on the bank of the river, was another child. He appeared to be a bit younger than the previous, but could tell they were of blood relation. He approached and watched the boy as he started to crawl away, shivering. "You needn't be afraid; I won't harm you." He reached out his hand and the child carefully yet cautiously took it.
Antonio thought to himself, "Had they been abandoned?" He carried the small, wet boy after placing his cloak around him. The kid cuddled his breast softly. His breaths slowed and eventually ceased. Antonio looked at this stillness of the one in his arms and held him closer as he walked back to the haystack. The death of two brothers he had come to meet caused his heart to ache. He gently placed the infant next to his brother and prayed for them both. He entered the shop and purchase one adult coffin, male child clothing, a wagon, and a horse. He took them from the hay into the wagon and placed his cloak around them both. He mounted the horse and rode off.
When he reached his home he went to the backyard and demounted the horse. He grabbed a shovel from the garden of tomatoes and dug their grave. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and approached the wagon. He undressed them both and cleansed the eldest's wound. Next he placed on him an outfit he had purchased earlier. He did the same to the youngest, but instead dried him well since he hadn't any wounds. After they were dressed and prepped he placed them in their coffin. There they laid side-by-side holding hands, appearing to be the wings of an angel. Antonio closed it. He placed the coffin into the grave and thus buried them. Once he finished he marked their grave with a cross. He disposed of the wet and soiled clothing then looked at the sunset.
Antonio's eyes fluttered open as he sat up. The same dream had haunted his sleep for the past several days. He raked his hand through his hair and stopped. He got up and went to the room he had given to Lovino. There, in his bed, was Lovino: alive and sleeping peacefully. Antonio gently stroked his hair. He smiled softly as Lovino nuzzled his hand. He ensured the covers where pulled up and watched as Lovino cuddled the pillow he had given him after discovering the love for tomatoes whirling inside the Italian. It was a soft, fluffy pillow that was in the shape of a tomato. He left the room and quietly closed the door. After returning to his room he attempted to get some sleep.