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An open field, 12 men and 2 conflicts

Since when did The Truth become so complex?

The world passed by you as everyone got on with their lives, to some you were just a mere object in the way, to many you were nothing, but to them you were someone, so you thought.

It had been two days since your incident on the rooftop, your ankle was still in some pain – perhaps Lay was not so good after all. You slowly limped your way to school as the wind blew against your bare legs.

Today was different from other days; you felt it in your heart.

Tired

If anyone was to ask you these days how you felt that would be the word you were certain on. Your body was weak as the past months were like strolling through hell and back. Recovery was not on the top of your priorities list nowadays.

An open field – Dry grass for miles, a sparse piece of land for those with secrets to contain themselves, a wolf’s haven

The sky like a pallet of watercolour paints, mixtures of reds, yellows and blues with blotches of black and white merging to one, an artist’s true master piece. Grass, brushing against your legs like ruffled feathers, a slight itch with every sway; indents from the paths the living have chosen to explore. The burrows of animals and their families buried in the shadows, hiding from the enemies; smart. The tall pine trees enclose the perimeter, swaying with the wind as it picks up, punishments to those who swayed against it.

The sound of water trickling through the springs 350 metres west of the field, making its way through to the souls of the soil and animals that long for its nutrition. Silhouettes emerge from the forestry, lurking throughout the shadows. The air as fresh as your first breath into the material world you once considered life, your lungs swell with nature as you consume your surroundings. Who knew the world could have such places so close to somewhere so stuffy and materialistic. Somewhere where the air is considered dangerous