Wind moves through the trees
and in an abandoned shack
an old man sits fiddling with an antique WW2 gun,
the same one he used in war
A weathered record player emits a soft tune
as he sits remembering his past,
of his youth, of blood-stained clothes, pain, and fear
no time for playing outside,
being a child was never an option,
His interaction with others was mostly done with
bullets, screams of terror and warning
\"All I knew was death, war and being terrified,\"
he cackles bitterly to himself
A sharp crack outside sends him partially upright
more so than he has been in years
\"What was that?\" he murmurs
CRACKLE CRACKLE CRACKLE
He stands, his heart clinched with fear
pain shoots throughout his whole body,
his legs like planks as he stands, and collapses
heart on fire as blackness swallows him tumbling
head over heels into a pit of darkness.