The killing field surrounded her as if she was in the eye of the storm. Bodies strewn all over, stabbed, shot, burnt. Not another living soul was in sight. Fallen comrades in arms were strewn among the remains of their enemies. It was a miracle that she was alive considering how much of her own blood stained the ground beneath her feet.
Her unit had been sent out to stop the approaching horde. Their village had been decimated by the plague, so they could only send out farmers and those too old to serve anymore. She was amazed they had stopped the monsters from taking away what was left.
She was so tired, but there was still there was more to do. She lit her torch and began to burn those bodies closest to her. The stench of sizzling flesh stung her lungs and eyes, but she didn’t pause as she raced to set more of the fallen ablaze.
The battle had been fast, but not fast enough. She tried to cry, but the tears were too tired to come. As the moon rose, so did the fallen. She could only set herself on fire. One fewer for the enemy.
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Never Short On Words 