Screams of agony echoed forth from the carmine corpses ahead. Once barren fields were now painted scarlet and burned ebony. My eyes scanned the horizon, a sea of obscure, dark clouds eclipsed with the sun, forever shadowing my journey. Eyes were gouged from their sockets and left the soldiers blinded by the horror for which they may be thankful. I myself didn't desire to relish in such a memory so cerise, so bloody. They stared back at me like some black hole sun, trying to find hope in a place so hell-born. It was as if Satan himself had reached from within the center of the Earth and set a fire to all that was beautiful. And as I passed these corpses, all I could see was the ruby red patch they all died for, so intricately sewn on their jackets.

I walked past them, my pace quickening with every step. The earth was so moist; I was two steps from believing it would swallow me whole, and deep down into Satan's fire, I'd drop. I pondered this as I stepped ever more quickly until I had reached the end of the flattened terrain. I stood at the top of a hill, more a mountain in my view, and I peered down unbelievably at the mounds below me.

Had we all fallen?

Below me laid thousands of sons, brothers, husbands, nephews, fathers: all dead, all lost. My cracked voice called to them, my pale hands reached out to them but none of them called back, none of them grasped my shaking hand.

It was then that I had lost hope and all consciousness.

Yet I felt, some hours later, that I no longer stood on that bloody barren field. Hands were carrying me. My world was black. I could not see. I was blinded from all that was around me and still I felt a reassuring grasp. It wasn't telling me that everything was alright; it was telling me I was gone.

When I could open my eyes, I only saw white. Ivory curtains billowed away from the window, the wind catching them and twisting them within its breeze. I knew where I was. I didn't need anyone to remind me. I was in the infirmary. And there was no possible escape, no escape.

"Good morning, Henry. I trust you had a good sleep?"

I looked at her and grimaced, "If only you were right."

She looked at me confusingly, "Am I right?"

I turned my head, against the pillow, fully aware of the grasp her eyes held.

"No, no. You're never right."