Gasping out a shaky breath, John shouted as he was quickly and violently pulled from his body. Taking in big breaths of air, John looked over his shoulder at his dying body. He could see a bullet hole and his body, dear god was his body filled with blood. Closing his eyes, John quickly stepped away, watching as his fellow soldiers fought against the British. One tried to ressurect him feebly but they both knew it was hopeless. John could only stand there and stare at his body, he could faintly see the spirits of other soldiers rising up to the skies, going to where ever their heaven was, but he stayed. Wincing at a sudden pain, John looked down as he saw a gapping hole right under his left rib. It was bleeding but it didn't seem to harm him in anyway, the blood just seemed to pool to the bottom of his feet onto the stained grass. Spitting on the ground, John tried to feel the absent pride for sacrificing his life for his own country, for everybodies freedom, but it didn't seem to come. All he felt was a dull emptiness throughout his body. Bending down and sitting next to his body, John stayed until the infamous battle settled down, he was surrounded by his fellow dead soldiers and the bodies of the very people they were fighting. So many lives lost, John could already see all the crying families when they find out their son, father, uncle, cousin, hell, even grandfather was shot fatally. Licking his lips, John sighed as he laid down and rested his head on the very gun shot wound that killed him. He could feel singular strands of hair falling into the bloodied hole, it wasn't until they took away his body that he forced himself to get up. Now that he was dead, what else would there be to do? Would he fade away over time or be stuck on this hell forever?

John watched as the battle around him continued on with no signs of ending anytime soon, many more soldiers began to fall from both sides. Horses with no handlers ran around free, causing havoc wherever they went. Sure, his body was already taken away, rotting slowly, but that didn't mean the battle had to stop. One insignificant soldier did not mean all battles had to stop, John knew that for a fact. John could still not fathom the fact that he was indeed dead, but the longer he stood there, the more he let the thought sink in. This was how short his life had been, no more Alexander, no more Hercules or Lafayette, and most importantly, no more beer. That was going to be one of the more harder things to adjust to, no beer. Screams of soldiers filled the air every second and died out a few seconds after, sometimes, the gurgling of one's own blood could be heard. Personally, John has grown accustomed to the thought of death and blood, but the amount of blood that was being spilled at the moment was shocking.

Coughing, John closed his eyes as he tried to figure out where he could go. He heard other spirits around him chat about their heaven or next destination, he overheard one say that his loved ones would always go over this at church. Listening to what he had to say, John flicked the idea off and began walking like there was no tomorrow--all he desired at the moment was to be as isolated as he could ever be. As the night grew cold and a crisp breeze travelled throughout the field, John felt himself grow more weary the more he walked, he didn't think it was possible considering he was dead, but he guessed anything was possible at this point. Raising an eyebrow as he felt his foot get submerged into a liquid, John looked down to see he had reached a speeding river. Rocks lined the shore as fish scrambled to get some hold on the current dragging them along. John wondered if there werre any turtles there. Swallowing, John stepped further into the river, it wasn't like he could die again anyway. He chuckled when he felt the slimy fish rub against his boots, the water made his clothing feel heavy on his body but he didn't mind. He was grateful he could feel anything at this point. John took into detail his still bleeding wound. How long would this bleeding last? This wasn't a permanent scar, was it? Coughing, John spat out some speckles of blood as he saw the world begin to grow dark around him. He didn't know what was happening, but he didn't like the view of it. He could see trees as tall as the eye could see slam through the ground like a needle piercing the skin, moss covered them. The grass beneath his feet began to die and the sky grew an awful dull red color. Was he hallucinating? What was all of this? Many questions began to arouse as John explored the newfound biome. There didn't seem to be too much biodiversity here, the most life that was in this forest were the trees--those alone weren't surviving too well either.

It felt as if this forest lasted forever the more John walked, he was beginning to grow tired of seeing the same old trees over and over again. The occasional crow could be heard as the clouds above him moved ever so slowly. Groaning, John began to feel annoyance fill his body at the thought of his friends resting up in the afterlife, relaxing and sleeping whilst he was stuck roaming this rugged terrain. He hated it, but John vowed to not let the thought bother him too much. "This is great, I'm stuck walking around God knows where with the most dark things around me. If this is hell, I'm already over it." John declared, expecting somebody to answer until he finally remembered he was in fact dead. Being dead didn't really feel that bad, it almost felt the same as being alive. He had the same clothes on that he died in, same freckles, same teeth, same hair strands, nothing was different except for the newfound wound. John was so tired and sluggish that he even wished his dad would be there with him at the moment. He never went as far as to wishing his dad was with him, never. John continued loosing hope as the same general trees and weeds kept repeating, was this an endless cycle of misery? John asked himself that everyday. Suddenly, the subtle thought and memory of Lafayette, Hercules, and Hamilton filled his head. He had remembered meeting Hamilton at the bar, man was that day the best day he had in a while. John wondered how they were all doing, considering Lafayette nor Hercules greeted him when he died, John assumed they were still alive. Those poor souls.

Growling, John screamed in annoyance as he kicked a dark spruce tree, wincing as he felt pain burst through his foot. "Damn, guess you can still hurt yourself even when your dead." John hissed under his breath as he hopped around on one foot, the brunette proposed that if this was where he was going to spend the rest of his sad life, he should get comfortable. Lodging against one of the closest trees, John huffed a breath of relief as the anxiety peeled itself away from his body. He finally felt at ease, not worrying about some stupid forest seemed to be doing well on him. Blowing a curly lock of hair out of his face, John chuckled as he watched it rise into the air slowly and then settle once more onto his face. "If this is going to be the kind of entertainment for the next thousand of years, I might as well just fade away now." John grumbled, he seemed to be having quite the unusual mood changes today. John just wished he could talk to somebody, guess that was too much to ask for even after death. Leaning his head back against the bark, John blinked as he felt a strange presence near him, growing cautious, John sat up to look around, trying to find whoever was radiating such a strange vibe.

Surprised when he had seen a turtle trudging past him slowly, John watched in amazement as it continued walking, not letting anything bother it or pull it back. Smiling with glee as he watched the turtle, John got up to follow it. He was filled with glee when he had seen more turtles begin to follow suit after the other, sort of like follow the leader. Trotting next to the pack of turtles, John stopped abruptly when one of the turtles suddenly screeched in pain. Squatting down to examine the turtle, John gasped as he saw the head of the poor turtle get flung off. The head flew through the air and clattered against a tree, the sound was sickening when skin hit bark. Screaming when he saw the spine peeking out of the turtle's shoulder area, blood began to spurt out of the gapping hole and the arms and legs flailed around. Rubbing his eyes, John held back tears as he looked at the other turtles, grateful that they were still alive. Maybe this was all just some cruel, sick joke. Was he actually dead? Maybe he was just delusional and in the cuffs of the British. Heaven was never described as a place to fear, more welcome.

Picking up one of the closer turtles, John got up from his squatted position and held the reptile up high towards the oh-so evident sun. "Buddy, you have to tell me where I am... this can't be hea-" John was cut off when the turtle felt to the ground, pieces of the shell and legs fell to the grass. Screaming, John scrambled away from the corpse and quickly skidded himself up to run away, he didn't know what the hell was going on, all he knew was that he had to get away from this place, and fast. Gasping as his lungs began to plead for air, John didn't stop his running, he was determined to get out of this sick and twisted area. Reaching out towards the open field in front of him, John jumped up into the air and slammed himself into the ground, feeling the force of his fall more than he wanted to. His clothes were stained with green as he slid across the muddy grass, shiny, celestial flowers began to grow where he had touched. Placing his hands onto the warm ground, John raised himself up as he finally felt at peace. He was no longer in that...place. Not wanting to think about it, John began to walk faster to get as far away from there as he could.

From now on, John decided he would call that place "The Empty Field." It rolled nice on his tongue and it fit the name. It was empty apart from the same trees and wildlife over and over again. Sniffling as the memories of the poor turtles rewinded in his head over and over again, it was as if it was on loop. Shaking his head violently, John stopped when he began to feel himself grow dizzy. Standing still, John clenched his fists closed, trying to sustain his anger in a more safe way. Feeling his nails prick his skin, John winced as he saw blood begin to drip down his hand. Not minding at this point, John ignored the blood and continued his journey towards his safe haven. Feeling tears well in his eyes as John began to think for the worse, he paddled on until his feet had grown tired. Not bearing to put himself through anymore cramps through his feet, John collapsed violently to the floor, feeling plants of all kinds grow around his spirit as he just laid there, wishing for some form of comfort. Was this really what his afterlife was going to be? An insufferable eternity of this?