A/n: This sort of fits the New Years...this is the first day of the new year, and this drabble is about the first day in hell:)

#1 First Night in Ishbal

When had her teddy bear been replaced with a gun?

When had the juice staining her pants become blood?

A few weeks at boot camp. A uniform thrust into her hands, and all personal items yanked from them. A bulky man yelling in her face, covering her cheeks in tobacco filled spittle. Early mornings, late nights, constant training.

Then the bus ride. A bumpy, sleepless night, on a vehicle that's dusty parts were held only together by the driver's will. The men around her were drunk, seeing it as their last night for such a thing.

Her last night before entering the war zone, and she spent it listening to off key drunkards and being jarred by trench sized potholes.

They arrived in Ishbal early that morning, the sun could just barely be seen over the mountains of sand.

It was like coming into a new world, maybe hell.

The moment her feet were off the bus, a gun was pushed into her hands, and she was shoved into a nearby pack of soldiers, their eyes sunken in, and their faces pale.

She was in the battlefield by nine am.

Orders were screamed at her, but still she could barely hear over the sounds of gunfire and bombs. But she didn't need orders, it was simple what she'd been sent here to do.

Shoot. Kill. Everyone.

In an instant it was night. The hot sun had disappeared, giving way to cold moon. The twinkling stars offered her little comfort. They seemed duller, holding less life.

Like her soul

She had killed people. Men. Women. Children.

Their blood was flecked across her face, dying her hair, and staining her clothes.

She showered for over two hours, but the feeling of the slick blood covering her wouldn't go away. Nor would the image of the people whose brains she'd splattered across their homes.

Her pillow was stained with tears, her bedside had a mat of vomit.

She didn't sleep. The bombs, and the distant screams carried on through the whole night.

The night would eventually end, giving way to a new day.

A new day of killing, of slaughtering, of tainting her soul.

She wanted her teddy bear and juice back.

But, she would find, in the days to come, another to hold on to, another to give her warmth on the cold desert nights. He would give her the fire she needed to go on.

For now though, she would listen to the symphony of death she played in.

END