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Despite what you may have thought of them, none could deny their involvement postmortem. Woven in the fabric of war, threads of destiny crossed hatched and gripped together where the wounds needed closing most.

Exhaustion piled upon the Nord as vision weakened and yet still she gave but one prayer.

[color=#50c878]"Loving son of man..."[/color]

A body placed upon bed.

[color=#50c878]"Give me yet still the strength..."[/color]

Blood stained hair and clothes. No time to rest yet.

[color=#50c878]"To carry this weight for those who have none left..."[/color]

More rubble shoved aside. Arms resist degrading to jelly.

[color=#50c878]"Inspire me with love..."[/color]

Pressure applied to wounds and banadges tightly coating over delicate wounds. The injury is bad.

[color=#50c878]"So that they may love again..."[/color]

Legs buckle, there is yet still more to be done!

[color=#50c878]"And give them peace..."[/color]

A smile pushes through, hope musn't be lost.

[color=#50c878]"So they may live again. Amen."[/color]

With each body a miracle of life. With each haul a comfort... but where there is life... so too does death lurk.

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The Reaper

Some say that any who are touched by his hands are doomed to death, entombed be thy soul to the memory of the one who buries the dead.

Franz was such a reaper.

Though every bit of strength rolled off stone and metal there would still yet be the inevitability of what had become. Blood gushed through the pouring reality and stained the soul of the survivor. 

Every detail of their face drained into his memory as though it were a shower of information. 

He told them what they wanted to hear.

[color=#0f5397]"You'll be okay."[/color] He tells them.

They nod, oh yes. They fade, oh yes.

[color=#0f5397]"I will remember you."[/color] He assures them.

They feel peace, oh yes. Lost to the books, oh yes.

[color=#0f5397]"It's only a little further!"[/color] He urges them.

They remember the past, oh yes. To the past they go, oh yes.

But they all know. They all know...

Left to the shadows, oh yes. The empty reaper carries them along. There is nothing left. Another dogtag in hand.

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And in the storm they cross. One brings life. One brings death. So briefly they pass, but so vivid its imagine. Over the shoulder of the man a limp body who has lost his life. In the craddle of the figurative mother a life is saved. They eye each other as they pass, but they don't say a word. The sadness in the man tells it all. The strength in the woman says it tall. The man screams within for it is all he can do. The woman screams aloud for hope cannot be lost. He carries another to their grave. She brings another to their hearth. Cold and dead is what he knows. Warm and lively what she knows. A restless night and a worn out dream. A hopeful song and a loving beam.

At the end of the day it was all he could do.

At the end of the day it was all she could do.

One left empty and another left full.

[color=#0f5397]"It'll never be alright. It never will be."[/color]

[color=#50c878]"It will be okay. You will be okay."[/color]

[color=#0f5397]"This world is fucked and it will never be alright."[/color]

[color=#50c878]"Just rest now and make it alright. Love and it will be alright."[/color]
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