I am not completely happy with this, however I think anymore tampering will only make it worse. Hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer – Contrary to what I like to think, I do not own the Mortal Instruments.
Fields of Blood. That's what he calls them. He always talks a little too loudly, but when he says this, he's practically yelling. Yelling as he curses the war, yelling as he mourns the losses. It's too much for him. We both know that. But he's given up. Given up living. He says it's only fair that he should die. He says his whole generation should've died long ago. In the battle. In the Fields of Blood.
It's cruel, really, that he is still alive. I wish for his sake that all those years ago he had been felled by one of the hordes of demons as so many of his fellow shadowhunters. Living a life cut short yet filled with happy memories would be better than living through years of bitter loneliness. I cannot comprehend what he has endured, struggling to cope through the loss of not only his family, but his parabatai, his wife, and unborn child.
The amount of residents at the War Veterans home has begun to dramatically decrease until now less than ten remain. Jace Lightwood was the first resident I was assigned to once I had graduated, but truthfully I am not sad to see him go. When I walk in on a cool Spring morning and see him motionless in his bed I mentally thank the Angel for finally taking pity on him.
This is not to say, however, that I do not miss him. Certain things he said to me and the tortured look in his golden eyes that constantly bit into my heart refuse to fade as the years roll on. Ironically, I forget until I too am on my death bed perhaps the most influential, yet somewhat forlorn, notion he ever shared with me.
Not all that we have is golden,
Yet not all of it is pain.
However the love that we have stolen,
Death shall claim again.
The poem at the end is quite abstract so I hope you were able to understand it.
Reviews much appreciated.