Unclassified Vignette
Like a grey hound waiting for its prey, he stood beneath the falling snow. Unfaltering, unmoving. It’s as if the cold passed his body without leaving its freezing touch behind; his eyes pierced through the dark, fixated on an empty space of nothingness. For a second, a sliver of anger passed through it, but it was gone before the howling wind.
He could hear it from where he stood: the sound of metals collided; the sound of cries, of desperation, of defeat, of loves lost, and lives gone. He can no longer move forward nor went back. Everything was too late. What has been done cannot be reversed, what was lost cannot be regained, and the widows were still waiting for no men to come home.
He clenched his teeth and muttered under his breath, “It’s over.” With a stride, blanket of thickest darkness engulfed his rigid body.
A hand reached out, but it touched nothing. Only emptiness and sorrow remained.
He could hear it from where he stood: the sound of metals collided; the sound of cries, of desperation, of defeat, of loves lost, and lives gone. He can no longer move forward nor went back. Everything was too late. What has been done cannot be reversed, what was lost cannot be regained, and the widows were still waiting for no men to come home.
He clenched his teeth and muttered under his breath, “It’s over.” With a stride, blanket of thickest darkness engulfed his rigid body.
A hand reached out, but it touched nothing. Only emptiness and sorrow remained.