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The battlefield was quiet now, the thunder of artillery and the crack of rifles long since faded. Only the distant moan of the wind and the occasional groan of twisted metal remained, echoes of a day that had seen too much bloodshed.
Once a peaceful and beautiful field, the land had been ravaged by war, deep trenches carved through the earth like open wounds, craters yawning where explosions had torn the ground asunder.
The once bright and vibrant flowers, the wild grass that danced in the breeze, everywhere they looked, the innocence of nature was now stained a deep and unforgiving crimson with the blood of countless.
Among the remnants of the battle, two soldiers lay side by side on a small, desolate hill. The sky was darkening, the sun slipping behind the mountains, casting long shadows over the scarred earth.
The younger soldier shifted slightly, his breath ragged, his uniform stained with dirt and blood. He leaned heavily against the older soldier, his eyelids fluttering as if fighting to stay awake. The pain in his side was a constant, dull throb, but there was a warmth in the presence beside him that kept him tethered to the moment even as his vision threatened to fade.
He had removed his helmet a while ago, and now the gentle breeze carded through his hair, carrying with it the faint, bittersweet scent of fresh air - air that had once been clean but was now tainted by the lingering stench of smoke, decay, and death.
“Hmm,” the young soldier murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, trying to rekindle a conversation that had gone silent. “I might get it.”
The older soldier, his face lined with exhaustion and pain, turned his head slightly to look at the boy beside him. There was a sadness in his eyes, but also a gentleness, a softness that had no place in the harsh world they had known - a softness that had no place in war.
He knew what the young soldier at his side was trying to do - trying to escape from the horrors of this war, the agony of their situation, even if just in his mind.
He wanted to help him, to give him something, anything, in these final moments.
Anything, to make it easier.
“And we could be friends in it?” The young soldier continued, his voice distant, as if he were already halfway to that imagined place, his glistening eyes staring up at the horizon as a soft smile crossed his pale and bloodied features.
The older soldier nodded slowly, his lips twitching into the barest hint of a smile as he played along. “Yeah,” he said softly, “we can be friends.”
Friends. Wouldn't that be nice?
The young soldier’s eyes brightened for a moment, a fleeting spark of life, before he turned to rest his head against the other soldier’s chest, seeking comfort in their shared warmth as he let out a shaky breath.
“You can come to my island,” the older soldier said, as though he could make it true just by saying it. The words were tinged with a soft sense childlike hope, a yearning for something pure and untainted by war.
An island...
Maybe it would make it easier, to pretend that when they closed their eyes on the horrific battlefield, their island would be waiting for them. A world of peace, of happiness, just waiting for them...
The older soldier swallowed hard, feeling the lump in his throat that had nothing to do with the pain of his wounds.
"That sounds nice,” the younger soldier replied, his voice so quiet it was almost lost to the wind. He smiled weakly, his head lolling to the side as he leaned into the older man’s shoulder. “We’d have a little house,” he whispered, his voice growing fainter, “and a garden… with flowers…”
Flowers, bright and colorful, untainted by the cost of war.
The older soldier closed his eyes, picturing it in his mind.
The island.
Their island.
A place untouched by war, by death.
A place where they could live in peace, where the air was filled with the scent of saltwater and wildflowers, where the only sound was the gentle lapping of waves against the shore.
A place where there would be no echoes of gunfire, no desperate, agonized screams, nothing that spoke of war, of death, of ruin.
A place where they could be happy.
“I’ll build that garden,” he promised, his voice trembling as he held his friend close, the world around them fading into darkness. “And we’ll sit in the sun and watch the sea.”
The younger soldier’s breathing grew slower, more labored, but there was still a small, contented smile on his lips as he gazed up at the sky. “And we’d be happy,” he murmured, his voice barely a breath now.
“Yes,” the older soldier agreed, his heart aching with the knowledge that this dream, this beautiful, impossible dream, was all they had left. “We’d be happy.”
The silence stretched between them as the last light of the day faded.
The young soldier’s eyes drifted closed, his breathing becoming shallow. The older soldier held him close, his own strength waning, his thoughts consumed by that island, that place where they could escape, where they could be more than just soldiers.
Where they could know more than just war.
The night crept in, the stars appearing one by one in the vast sky above, the moon rising into the sky and casting a gentle light upon the battlefield.
In the darkness of the night, the battlefield didn't look as gruesome. The flowers looked like flowers, the wild grass looked like wild grass, the blood that soaked everything faded into the shadows as the beauty of nature emerged.
They pictured their island, imagined the flowers that would bloom there, how the grass would sway in the midday sun.
The world around them grew still, as if even the earth and the wind were holding their breath, waiting for whatever came next.
The older soldier felt the younger one grow lighter in his arms, as if the boy were already slipping away, crossing the threshold into that dream.
“Hold on,” the older soldier whispered, his voice cracking as he felt their end approaching. “Just a little longer…"
But he knew it was futile.
The island was calling them, a soft, insistent pull, drawing them both toward that final peace. He felt his own grip on reality loosening, his body growing cold, his vision darkening.
“We’ll be there soon,” he whispered, though whether he was speaking to the younger soldier or to himself, he couldn’t say. “Together.”
“On the island?” the younger man asked, a dark trickle of blood beginning to seep from his pale lips.
“On our island,” the older soldier assured him.
And as the last remnants of their strength ebbed away, as the world around them blurred into nothingness, they both held on to that one final thought: the island.
Their island.
A place where they would find each other again, where the war couldn’t touch them, where they would finally be free.
The two soldiers, nameless in the vastness of the world and insignificant in the horrors of war, slipped quietly into the night, their dream of a beautiful island where they could simply be carrying them peacefully to whatever lay beyond.