A one-man army and fighting for the wrong side, he was ignorant and blind. He stormed through his everyday life – that was an infinite trench of warfare – with no one but himself sprinting through his head. Although hatred pounded upon him like bullets, he felt no pain. In this state, he was recognizable and so utterly familiar that those around were shaken. It seemed as if a spasm of space and time had brought these events to a head and the aftermath was disastrous; objects were slain in a battle of wits. Sheer strength had murdered the immortal soldiers that had fought courageously for composure.
Again he shuddered, dodging the words of the enemy soldiers, still bracing arms for combat. He could not lay down his arms, but it was not due to relentlessness or courage; fear coursed through his veins like thick glue and stuck to the walls. Slow motion set in as the hearts beat like basketballs being bounced off of glass rapidly and repeatedly, but no one took any notice. The room moved sluggishly, yet quickly closed in around the characters.
Suddenly, the soldiers formed a small circle, facing outward to face the enemy of animosity surrounding them, closing in on their ranks. Defenses were up, emotions ran high, though the officers told them to stand down. Reluctantly, the tiny soldiers surrendered, and the sound of crying eyes and broken hearts rang clear across the battlefield.
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