"Well I could sleep forever
But it's of you I'd dream
If I could sleep forever
I could forget about everything."
ALL THAT COULD HAVE BEEN
The sound of ancient, holy metal clanging against itself had rung throughout the city since dawn, and it had yet to stop. Like some huge, monolithic machine of God, it went on unceasingly, ignorant of the warriors that lay scattered about the cracked and crumbling rooftops like discarded dolls. The scent of death hung thick in the air. There was a reddish haze haloing the scene; blood colored mist seemed to cling to everything.
Their duties were finished. Both sides had supported their champions as far as they could, but the time had come to rest.
Some had not wanted to go. The red-haired woman was curled on her side, still clutching the gaping wound in her abdomen that had killed her. The faintly damp tracks of her tears had cut visible lines through the grime and blood smeared across her face. She had fought her demise to the very end.
Some were resigned to their eventualities. The tall boy was propped against the rim of a rooftop, arms protectively encirled around the young woman he'd died for. Her head was buried in his lap- her broken sobs had petered out some time ago as blood loss had finally overcome her.
And some were still waiting for theirs.
The dead-eyed young man had remained upright just long enough to retrieve the abused body of his youngest comrade. His steps were unsteady, but his grip was gentle; of them all, he thought dully, she had least deserved to die.
At least, he mused, laying the girl down gently on the nearest clean slab of concrete he could find, it had been quick. He hoped there hadn't been much pain.
He stumbled as his hands released her, but he was only faintly alarmed to find himself slumping to the ground as his left leg betrayed him and gave out completely. He landed hard on his hip, but for some reason it was closer to funny than painful. Smiling slightly, he allowed himself to fall, rolling over onto his back to stare up at the sky. White feathers twirled and twisted down from above like Heavenly snow. Oddly beautiful, but at the same time it made his very soul ache.
He had come very close to missing this. He had very nearly played his trump card and run away from it all, to wait beneath the tree for the light or the darkness, whichever won over. But something had made him come here, to this stage, where the finale was already in motion and the players were already finishing their scenes.
How ludicrous it was, he thought, that he had gone through so much, had suffered so much and had overcome so much- even his own emotional attachments- to come here and have his part in the final act, only to fall without having done a thing. It meant that his entire existence had been for nothing. He had lived, he had loved, he had cried and he had laughed and had been whole and human and ALIVE... all for nothing.
He was still smiling, however, as he watched the feathers rain from the sky. It was evening now, and it was cold. Or maybe it was just him. Numbness was settling into his limbs; the world above and around was slowing, blurring. Surreality seemed to have overtaken the city.
It didn't matter to him or his fellow warriors whether the Messiah destroyed the Anti-Christ or vice versa. Whichever of the two eventually triumphed, they would all be long gone by then, souls whisping upwards or downwards or sideways or where ever it was the dead went when they departed.
He just wished that, where ever Fate saw fit to send him now, he would be allowed happiness, this time.
The young man closed his eyes with a muted cough. History remembered kings and champions, those who strove at the head of the army, leading the soldiers into battle.
No one remembered the nameless warriors.
But, he thought as he let out his final breath, it didn't matter anymore.
*******
(NOTE: Yes, I should be shot for this.)
But it's of you I'd dream
If I could sleep forever
I could forget about everything."
ALL THAT COULD HAVE BEEN
The sound of ancient, holy metal clanging against itself had rung throughout the city since dawn, and it had yet to stop. Like some huge, monolithic machine of God, it went on unceasingly, ignorant of the warriors that lay scattered about the cracked and crumbling rooftops like discarded dolls. The scent of death hung thick in the air. There was a reddish haze haloing the scene; blood colored mist seemed to cling to everything.
Their duties were finished. Both sides had supported their champions as far as they could, but the time had come to rest.
Some had not wanted to go. The red-haired woman was curled on her side, still clutching the gaping wound in her abdomen that had killed her. The faintly damp tracks of her tears had cut visible lines through the grime and blood smeared across her face. She had fought her demise to the very end.
Some were resigned to their eventualities. The tall boy was propped against the rim of a rooftop, arms protectively encirled around the young woman he'd died for. Her head was buried in his lap- her broken sobs had petered out some time ago as blood loss had finally overcome her.
And some were still waiting for theirs.
The dead-eyed young man had remained upright just long enough to retrieve the abused body of his youngest comrade. His steps were unsteady, but his grip was gentle; of them all, he thought dully, she had least deserved to die.
At least, he mused, laying the girl down gently on the nearest clean slab of concrete he could find, it had been quick. He hoped there hadn't been much pain.
He stumbled as his hands released her, but he was only faintly alarmed to find himself slumping to the ground as his left leg betrayed him and gave out completely. He landed hard on his hip, but for some reason it was closer to funny than painful. Smiling slightly, he allowed himself to fall, rolling over onto his back to stare up at the sky. White feathers twirled and twisted down from above like Heavenly snow. Oddly beautiful, but at the same time it made his very soul ache.
He had come very close to missing this. He had very nearly played his trump card and run away from it all, to wait beneath the tree for the light or the darkness, whichever won over. But something had made him come here, to this stage, where the finale was already in motion and the players were already finishing their scenes.
How ludicrous it was, he thought, that he had gone through so much, had suffered so much and had overcome so much- even his own emotional attachments- to come here and have his part in the final act, only to fall without having done a thing. It meant that his entire existence had been for nothing. He had lived, he had loved, he had cried and he had laughed and had been whole and human and ALIVE... all for nothing.
He was still smiling, however, as he watched the feathers rain from the sky. It was evening now, and it was cold. Or maybe it was just him. Numbness was settling into his limbs; the world above and around was slowing, blurring. Surreality seemed to have overtaken the city.
It didn't matter to him or his fellow warriors whether the Messiah destroyed the Anti-Christ or vice versa. Whichever of the two eventually triumphed, they would all be long gone by then, souls whisping upwards or downwards or sideways or where ever it was the dead went when they departed.
He just wished that, where ever Fate saw fit to send him now, he would be allowed happiness, this time.
The young man closed his eyes with a muted cough. History remembered kings and champions, those who strove at the head of the army, leading the soldiers into battle.
No one remembered the nameless warriors.
But, he thought as he let out his final breath, it didn't matter anymore.
*******
(NOTE: Yes, I should be shot for this.)