A Beautiful Haunting Pt. 2

"I have a girl back home, long brown hair, green eyes, and the softest voice. She can make your heart melt, or tear it apart with just a whisper. She is what we dream about here, on this field." Jason smiled, looking at John, flashing him a jesters grin. He only smiled when talking about her, and everyone knew that. He only seemed happy when thinking of her, but then again, who could blame him? They were now walking in some part of the country he didn't even know, the buildings were waste, from bombings and urban war fare.  John sighed, taking a long drag off of the cigarette he had been saving for a month, rations were low at this point. The embers glowed in the dismal drizzles of rain. The sky, pregnant with more rain, and more cold weather. "Yeah, yeah we know. And she is also an angel, and a princess locked away in some tower." John joked, as the battalion was commanded to halt. "Yeah, I can't wait till this is over.." Jason said, moving to one of the crumbled buildings, look into the ruins. The blast was loud, so loud that his ears were ringing, his thoughts scattered, flesh burning, the force of the blast knocking him down onto his back. It continued, one after the other. Long into the night. Jason crawled, the orange flame licked skies raining floods of fire down onto them. Screams of agony, piercing the sky. That wasn't the first time he had heard them. John, lay there, the smoke hanging from his pale chilled lips. The steel shrapnel impaled his chest, right through his lung. "Are you alright buddy? Jason franticly crawled over, another blast close by sending a shower of earth and soot over his form. His face, covered in blackened earth, as he grabbed Johns hand. "It'll be alright man, just relax. Help is coming." He tried to be as calm as possible, but there was so much blood. It was bubbling up, and leaking down the mans uniform, soaking the earth, cursing it with American crimson. "No it's over for me man... " He paused, coughing up some more of the syrupy liquid. "... You just get home to that girl man, you get home and you take care of her. I haven't had anyone in my life, orphan, no father or mother. Hell I haven't even had anyone to love. And it made me hard man. My heart is stone, and I lived in agony. But over these past few weeks you have shown me that there is love. There is more to this life than drinking it away, and sleeping with some young thing only to leave them the next day. Thanks man..." And with that, his eyes rolled back, his chest coming to a halt, body rigid.  Jason could only stare, dropping his hand and falling back. Watching as the painted disaster took place. The golden explosions telling more than one story as the erupted. Embers large and brilliant cascading down over the ruined city. Streaming down, splashing in golden sparks, running wild in their devastating wake. Eating through stone and flesh, scouring it with destruction.

The smell of death can be demoralizing, and the stench never leaves. Worms crawling in and out of empty skulls, the hollow sockets mourn for burial, and for some sanctification. The skies rolled with blood laced clouds, the rain was heavy, soaking the torn soldiers below. Jason picked himself up, his body weak from the sight, and the trials of the night before. Out of the thirty men, only ten had survived. That was systematic slaughter, that was death. The reaper had called, and harvested the souls that roamed this mundane earth. Boots sinking down into the muddy ground, as he leaned over, taking johns dog tag. He pushed it into his pocket and walked over to the commander, as he shouted orders. Right now they were just blurred shouts, everything was blurred. He was sick with the smell of death, with the vision of chaos. "Jason, get the radio off of Jenkins, we have to move away from here as fast as possible. There is an American camp a few miles ahead that we can make before nightfall if we go now. We don't have time to bury the dead, lets move men!" Jenkins, eighteen years old and now just a pile of bones and flesh. Jason leaned down, unstrapping the buckles, and grabbing the heavy radio equipment. He strapped it on, grabbing up dog tags here and there. This was the army life. This was everyday life, the struggle to survive. Hit and miss. The camp was heavily fortified, with over three hundred strong. Jason sat in the tent, resting his tired bones, thinking about the nightmare hours ago. That familiar pencil, shaking in his fingers, as he scribbled over the crumpled parchment. The lead expressing his tormented emotions, a tool that would channel his fears, and bring them to a soothing halt.

Dear Avery
    The night is cold. My fingers are shaking, forgive me for the legibility that you are witnessing. My nerves are wrecked, for I have just seen hell emerge from it's soil, and swallow the world in a chaotic nightmare. So many suffer right now, I can hear the screams, I can hear the wails, I can here them all. They all sound the same. Please, pray for me my sweet, pray for my survival. I don't have much time, we are moving on soon. Moving to Berlin, they say this is where the war will stop. We will meet soon, my dear Avery. Love... Jason.