(2022/10/01)
Jethro sprinted through the fiery field. He never stopped. He never looked back. He couldn’t afford to. It was too dangerous. The field was pure fire. The flames rose to towers and cast a bright red shadow on the world.
Soldiers sprinted through the field and hammered bullets through the air. Screams pierced the night as the bullets hit true.
Jethro was in hell.
Sweat streamed down his frantic face as he ran for his life. The bullets whizzing past his ears. He was numb with adrenaline. All he could think of was his safety. He pleaded with God, Let me live! Let me live! Who knows if god heard him?
The world was a fiery pit of hell. The flames devoured buildings, crops, and people. The screams intensified. People dropped like flies around him. Humans. Real lives. With real familes, and real feelings, and real pain, and real ambitions. Dropped dead in a second.
A life, ceased in an instant. A beautiful being falling to the ground, lifeless.
The fires consumed the bodies.
The fire consumed Jethro’s soul. How could people do this! How could they do this to other people!
He pumped his arms and legs. Begging himself to go further, to run faster. The bullets screamed past him. Cramming themselves into the lives of others. Exploding into bloody mist.
His body ached, so did his soul. He couldn't stop running. He would die if he did. He had to keep going.
The fires burnt his nose. The explosions rocked his body and threw him to his knees. He scrambled back up, he couldn’t afford to fall down. Blood swirled and danced in his mouth, covering his taste buds with a horrible flavor. Ice-cold fear froze every inch of his body.
The brush folded in front of him as he ran as fast as he could. The sky was red from the fires.
He sprinted and sprinted, and the bullets kept raining. The screams kept piercing. The bodies kept falling. He ran and ran and ran. Forever. When would it end?
Buildings crumpled into masses of charcoaled logs. Sparks swarmed into the air. A flickering glow emitted from each source of fire.
He sprinted past the buildings, past the soldiers, past the battle. As the sounds of war began to die, his hope returned to him, as did his sense of reality.
Deathly tired, Jethro stumbled to a halt. Barely able to stand, he lowered himself to the ground. He sat on the stiff, harsh grass for an eternity. He could barely perceive time, his brain just wouldn’t work.
