A man
stands in the dust, an empty gun dangling from his fingertips and tears in his eyes. They're all dead; his friends, his family, his lover, dead and gone in the name of freedom. He alone stands in the end, the last survivor and ultimate downfall of the great enemy that destroyed everything. A building collapses in the distance, reminding the man that life is fleeting; reminding him that there is nothing left. He will live out his days alone and forgotten, forgotten by the dead who have no name.
The last sound to echo from the shattered landscape is his scream; the scream of a man whose soul has died with his comrades, the scream of a man who yet lives, but wishes he did not.
The scream of the victor who now prays for death.
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This is what I saw. I'm going to go, with this image in my head, and write a story about this man, about what he lost to save nothing. And your music will be looping in my ears.
You are a genius, friend.