The smell of vomit and the taste of blood was all that he could sense now, nothing else was of interest to him, yet at the same time, everything else was what he wanted. “No,” he told himself, “I need to save him.”
He swayed forward, his lumbering leg digging itself into the ground, providing support for the rest of his body. His threw his other leg forward, then his other leg, and in this strange dance did he march onward. He disregarded the outstretched arms looking for refuge, shaking one off when a hand grasped his leg. The moans of demise resonated in his eardrums, “I can’t save you,” he announced, “I can’t save any of you.” In time, the arms began to drop, and he was allowed passage to march.
There, in the middle, he saw him, circled by his enemies. The dreadful monsters, a mob surrounding a little innocent boy who did nothing wrong. The legs that once felt like iron now became feathers, and he rushed towards the boy. He lifted his third arm up, the one made out of metal and filled with death, “Get away from him!” he shouted with empty threats, “Get away or I’ll kill you all!”
Gunfire erupted in a split second, with chaos overthrowing rationality on the battlefield. He didn’t know who shot who, he didn’t even know he had his finger on the trigger until he saw one of the men explode. His finger rested upon the trigger, as his arm flailed around from side to side, and he charged towards them with a roar. He watched as brains burst out of their cages, flying free into Heaven high above. The sand was painted with a dark shade of red, a coat of red from his enemies and of himself.
His knees weakened and his body failed him, yet he smiled as he fell into the red sand. Peace had regained his heart, a momentary silence of the maddening thoughts in his head before he would pass. It was over, it was finally over, and his smile was wide and genuine.
And the last thing he sees before he dies was the crumpled head of his little boy falling down.