War doesn't end. It merely changes form, staying alive in the bodies that survive, in the eyes that have seen too much, in the soil that holds the bones.
We were marching toward what they called the final battle, but no one believed that. Not even me. The only thing that would end here was myself. I could feel it in my skin, in the weight of the rifle, in the emptiness of my stomach. Death walked with us, like an invisible soldier, silent, waiting for the right moment to choose its next victim.
The rain began to fall, thin and cold, and I wondered, for the thousandth time, where God was. Perhaps it was a sign that God was crying, watching His children kill each other. The chaplain said He suffered with us, but the idea of a God who suffers seemed as useless as trying to light a candle in the middle of a storm.
As we ran, the gunfire began to echo. The ground exploded ahead of us, and the smell of gunpowder mixed with mud and blood filled the air. That's when it happened.
I felt the impact on my chest, as if an invisible hand had yanked me off the ground. I fell on my back, the world spinning around me. The pain was hot, like fire, but it quickly dissipated, leaving only a strange coldness.
Lying there in the mud, I started to laugh. A bitter, almost mad laugh.
— So this is it? This is how it ends? — I murmured, staring at the gray sky.
The world around me began to dissolve. The explosions grew distant, the screams muffled. And then, in the silence, a voice.
— You wanted answers?
I lifted my eyes. Before me stood an indistinct figure, made of light and shadow, of forms I couldn't comprehend. It had no face, but I knew who it was.
— God? — I asked, my voice trembling, incredulous.
— That is what you call me.
— So you exist. You've been here all along, watching. Why? Why did you let this happen?
The figure was silent for a moment, then replied:
— Because I gave you freedom.
I felt anger rise within me, anger that not even the pain could suppress.
— Freedom? This is freedom? Being thrown into this war? Being forced to kill to survive? You gave us the choice, but the world took it away from us!
The light around Him seemed to flicker, as if it bore my weight.
— Freedom is both a gift and a curse. You've used it to create, to love, but also to destroy. I did not control you because, without choice, you wouldn't be human.
— So you let us die! — I shouted, my voice echoing in the void. — You gave us free will and abandoned us to chaos!
The figure stepped closer, and for the first time, I felt something strange: sadness.
— I did not abandon you. I am here. I have always been here. But the choice… has always been yours.
— And what have we done with it? — I asked, my voice now a whisper. — Look around us. We've turned the world into a cemetery. There's nothing left.
He leaned over me, His presence overwhelming yet comforting.
— I see. Every tear, every death, every scream. I see it all, and I weep.
That sentence broke me in a way the war never could. God weeping. Not a judge, not a king, but a being who suffered more than any of us because He saw everything.
— Then why don't you do something? — I asked, my voice barely audible.
— Because doing so would take from you what makes you human. And yet, I wait. I wait for you to see what I see in you: the ability to choose good, even in the darkest times.
I felt my strength slipping away. The light around me began to fade, and I knew my time was ending.
— And if we can't? — I whispered.
His voice came soft but heavy with meaning.
— Then I will keep waiting.
My vision began to darken, but one last question burned within me.
— Do you forgive us? For all of this?
— I already have. The question is: can you forgive yourselves?
And then, the light disappeared. I was alone again, lying in the mud, the sound of war now distant, like an echo from another world.
As my life ebbed away, I looked at the sky one last time. The rain still fell, washing away the blood, the mud, the pain. I didn't know if it was God crying or simply nature continuing its course, but, for the first time, it didn't matter.
I closed my eyes. And in the final silence, I understood: the greatest burden of freedom isn't what we do with it, but what it does to us.
The End.