A single bullet.
Fired by a dishonest hand.
Fired by the liar.
The bringer of tears.
Of sorrow, and grief.
The jester in disguise.
Who so blatantly laughed.
At the fallen child.
The girl with the snow-white hair.
And blood-red eyes.
A child that determined the fate of a country.
The hero with the fiery eyes.
With the golden flames and a mere dream.
The lioness with a pistol.
With a desire to protect the one who cared.
The courageous man.
With a faithful lover in earnest wait.
An innocent little girl.
At home awaiting the parents who would never return.
The scarred outcast.
Who trudged through the barren desert with a leaden heart and a lust for vengeance.
The man with tattoed hands of destruction.
With a cold laugh and a longing for bloodshed.
The doctor.
Who wept for the sanity of mankind as he cupped the crimson crystal.
That changed the destinies of so many.
War is fruitless.
Revenge leads to more revenge.
Hatred is what walks a soul.
Down a distant, grey path.
War is what causes tears to drip down a true soldier's face.
As he realizes.
That he traded his soul.
His humanity.
For a gun.
For war.
In the aftermath.
The wounds of regret will never heal.
The scarring memories cannot fade.
The screams of agony will always echo throughout a shattered mind.
Because that is what war is.
A ceaseless struggle.
Unbearable chaos.
A bullet fired.
A child fallen.