This is not a heroic tale. Neither is it a depressing one. It is merely a tale of a man's death...

•This is bad• he thought, swaying on his bruised feet in battered boots. The strong determination to survive kept him on those very toes, swearing to a necklace wrapped around his neck.

Fast, jet streamed arrows of fury burst through the sludgy ground. Comrades were ripped apart, with sudden, fleeting pain. He waded through the wet mud, mixed blood, reaching for a hand stretched out in front of him. Too soon, was that same hand being riddled with holes.

He gripped with his laboured hands, clenching the barrel of his gun, teeth grinding. He was not ready to die yet. Yet, the whistling winds told him not so. They told him of the things he has to let go and the things that remain.

"You are all that remains" They told him, all the while slashing his face. Tears rolled down his red, bleached cheeks. Falling further and further, sinking deeper and deeper, into the abyss called death.

Grinding his teeth once again, he tried to take another step forward but the cold wind forbid so. Instead, he was lunged forward, slamming his head on the dirt.

•This is it• he thought, emotion swelling up inside him as his consciences slowly slipped away into gentle bliss.

A sickly sweet aroma softened the thick, greasy air around him. The fragrance reminded him of his fiancé awaiting his return back home. The tears streamed clear lines.

•I'm sorry...• The thought never made it to his lips as his last breath was squeezed out of a painful smile.

On the ground beside him, half buried, was the necklace. Showing a picture of a pregnant woman wearing a hopeful smile...