A red colored snow gently falls, silently upon a more silent town. Not a sound through the streets, nor a movement to be seen therein.
A boy sits, alone, watching as the snow falls, dying him a deep red shade. Not making a sound as the show is going on above him, and he, after all, the spectator.
Always watching. Seeing.
He watches the battle constantly going on, and rivers of slurry blood fall upon the little town he had decided to settle himself upon, hoping for the end to befall him, or for the battle to stop. But it doesn't. It hasn't.
The battle above has gone on since time beginning, and for all he knew, until time ended.
He can do naught but to watch. Hoping for a break in the monotony. But it's the same. This town is the same as the last, annihilated by the bloody snow that accompanied him.