The rapid-fire bullet pierced the heavy morning air, shattering the tranquility of dawn. The dew-covered grass trembled under the weight of the violence that unfolded, a stark contrast to the fragile veil of night that still lingered.

There was no beauty in the song of guns, no romance in the cacophony of destruction. It was the relentless march of inevitability, cutting through innocence and guilt alike. War, with its indiscriminate fury, was a scourge that could not be reasoned with or appeased.

As the mortar shells exploded and the grenades echoed in the distance, I found myself enveloped in a strange sense of calm amidst the chaos. It was as if I was being reborn in that moment, my past and present colliding in a whirlwind of emotions.

I felt myself splintering and reassembling, torn between death and life, darkness, and light. In that surreal moment, I understood the true cost of war – there were no heroes, only loss and grief that echoed across the world.

As the bloodied flag fluttered in the wind, a grim reminder of the price we pay for our humanity, I realized that we were all victims of the same tragedy. And as the world wept for the fallen, I whispered a prayer for peace, hoping that one day, the cries of war would be silenced forever.

© Beatriz Esmer