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The air was suffocating, to say the least.
Joshua hobbled his way through the broken streets, the sight of a dystopian New York City, once an metropolitan city filled to the brim with life, was now reduced to rubble and debris. It was depressing, to say the least, the place where he moved being destroyed by war. The once tall skyscrapers were now reduced to nothing but mere rocks and chunks of concrete, the once bustling streets were desolate, filled with bodies and puddles of blood, with the scent of blood and smoke wafting through the air.
There, in the distance, it was then that Joshua made a run for his life, towards the body. Oh, he wished the body wasn't who he thought it was.
Alas, his prayers fell on deaf ears.
The man before him was still, eyes closed and chest lacking the rise and fall of a breathing human. His brown hair framed his features, strands of hair gently fluttering in the breeze. His limbs, still and unmoving. With a trembling hand, Joshua grabbed onto the open hand of the corpse. It felt so lifeless, cold, yet it looked inviting, warm. Blood pooled under the corpse, staining the clothes of the both of them.
Even in death, his face was still as calm as ever, as if he had accepted his fate.
Even in death, his features were still noticable, every imperfection and every flaw the face might cover.
Even in death, Hansol was the same as ever.
Joshua shook his head, not wanting to accept that Hansol, his dear brother was dead, dead, gone and dead in front of him. He would do anything to resurrect his brother back to life, even at the cost of his soul, his very living being as a price. After all, an eye for an eye, so why not a soul for a soul?
His mind flashed back momentarily, to moments he took for granted. When he and Hansol were at the park, frolicking and playing around, chasing each other on the vast green that was the park. When he was teaching Hansol lessons he didn't understand, and lessons that always ended with Hansol aceing the topic, earning the little brother a hug by the elder. When, during their parents' death, it was Hansol that consoled Joshua's crying figure, burrowing his face in Hansol's sturdy build.
Joshua eventually broke down, letting the held-back tears burst and cascade down his cheeks, joining the pool of blood below Hansol that was now staining both of their clothes. He didn't care if he was getting his clothes dirty, he didn't care if there would be people looking at him with weird expressions as to why he's near a corpse. He wouldn't even care if people were to rob his house at that very moment. It felt like something was dragging him down into an ocean of despair, of blinding rage, and Joshua let himself become succumbed by the building anger.
It was a stupid war. One of politics and ideals, and tensions brew calamity, and therefore, calamity brew death. Nations going to war with each other, putting the innocents at risk. It was stupid. The more Joshua thought about the catatrosphic consequences of the war, the more he was consumed with seething, white hot rage, replacing the sorrow and sadness occupying his heart.
He remembered about that one time, where he was somewhere in ninth grade, in where his history teacher taught him about World War I, it's sequel World War 2, the American Civil war—the list of wars dragged on and on. At first, he didn't understand how they felt, the people who were forced to become separated with their loved ones for the sake of their motherland, the people who died in the front lines, the people who were forced to accept that their deceased loved ones, killed from the war, will never come back home, those who longed for them to come back, waiting for them, only to receive news that they had died honorably in the battlefield.
Now, he understood. With a shaky leg, he carried Hansol's cold carcass down the dystopian New York City's streets.
If one were to ask another about the 5 Stages of Grief, most would answer that it consisted of denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. However, if one were to ask Joshua, they would take one look in his eyes and cower away. Gone was the compassion and love that exised within Joshua's eyes of deep brown, gone was the kindess that had persisted throughout the years, from his birth up until when his brother fell due to the war.
In the moment of time, he was numb with rage.
In the moment of time, he was the personification of the fabled sixth stage of grief.
In the moment of time, he was revenge.