RED EYE

Redness. It was not a sight he was unfamiliar with. But that was a different red, a red of battles and glory. This one was something else. It tore at him, ate his heart, attacked him in a way he did not know or understand. This red stung his cheeks, burned his eyes, dripped from those orbs in a clearness that belied the color they caused. They brought bright flames of red to his usually pale nose.

Poor soldier, stoic for so long, so strong, soaring above all others. Yet, now, when he was finally alone, all others killed and gone, the red of blood was not what invaded and caused pain. The blood oozing from his wounds paled in comparison, and this newness tore at his mind.

Nothing soothed, nothing he knew, nothing he tried. And he, who had so long known all, now knew nothing, and had no one to teach him now that he was in need.

Sorrow, this stranger to his soul, overwhelmed and swallowed him. Too many warriors lost. Too many friends and comrades and companions, all killed, all slaughtered, and it was finally more than he could bear to handle.

His mind crumbled under the force, and all the emotions locked away over the years, behind his warrior's façade, came flooding back, crushing him to the ground, trapped in a state of grieving that rightfully should have extended over years.

All was gone from his mind but the greatness of his loss, and he was left helpless, sitting beneath a tree in the rain, alone without anyone to hold him gently, to wipe away his tears.

Mind broken, he huddled in solitude, no one there to share his pain even if he could, and stared blankly, rain blackening his hair and washing away the evidence of his demise.

This redness, it burned through his heart, his soul, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was defenseless, a child at its mercy. These tears would be his end.