I hear the sounds of horror and panic. Screams. Bombs dropping and exploding. The smell of gunpowder fills my nostrils as I weave through trees and scale over trenches. Bullets fly past me.
I feel a sudden pain as one narrowly misses my skull. My hands instinctively grasp my ear, what’s left of it at least. I cry out in pain as I continue to move on.
“Sam! Where are you?” I call out through aching lungs. “Sam!”
I feel the blood crawling down my neck. It’s warm, almost soothing. It’s hard to balance myself as I run over this uneven field littered with the dead. I can’t tell between friend or foe. They’re all the same. The bombs will clean them up soon.
I’m not dead yet, I think to myself as the adrenaline in my body pumps harder and harder. I soon can’t hear anything but myself as I inhale and exhale. The air feels cool and clear.
Until it isn’t.
A yellow mist creeps in. I look down and it has enveloped my feet. It rises up until I catch its scent. It’s sour. It’s dry. First it was black powder and now gas. It gets in my eyes. My vison begins to blur. My left eye goes out before my right. I stop running. I reach for a tree or a rock or anything resembling that. My hands flail through the gas as the vision in my right eye starts to change. I see beautiful colors as I stumble across the battlefield.
“Griffin?” I hear a voice in the distance.
“Sam?” I ask out, sheepishly.
“Griffin!” I hear again.
I finally found him, or maybe he found me. I can only hear him. He sounds beautiful. His is the song of an angel.
I hear gun fire in the distance.
I stare towards the beauty that is his voice. I hear gunshots. They’re closer this time. I step toward the beauty that is his voice.
Again, I hear gunshots. I hear his voice, “Griffin! No!”
The gunshots. They sound closer.
I hurt. I hurt all over.