Dance With the Devil
The soldier stood in the midst of a
battle gone and over, surrounded by the carnage of his dead friends and people
he will now never meet. Blood was the new pavement that covered the cracked
asphalt and screams were what now filled the air where the hum of cars had once
What he now saw was a different world, one the young man never thought he would be forced to live through. People died whether they were citizens or soldiers. Mercy was not a luxury anyone could afford.
Despaired and shocked, the man took a step forward and slowly began to stumble down a street, the same street he had walked down so many times before in a life he could hardly remember. A child’s body lay to one side of him, holding the hand of a slightly older child, both together even as Death swept in and took their innocent souls. Another soldier lay to the opposite side; the small heart-shaped picture of a beautiful woman was clutched in what was left of his shredded hand. The soldier absentmindedly tightened his hand around the air of a picture of his own that was long gone, mixed in with the blood that flooded the city.
The soldier fell to his knees suddenly and grabbed his side, his own fresh blood wetting his fingers. Hot tears left small streaks in the mud that had now become the soldiers face. He shook, unable to move with the weight of the sadness pressing down on him, he was Atlas now, holding up the world on his shoulders.
A small flicker of a shadow drew the soldier’s attention. His body tensed up quickly and looked to where the shadow had moved, but it was gone. The shadow took form and stood behind the broken man.
“It’s over human, your world is ours,” a demonic whisper filled the soldier’s soul before blackness took over.