Thousands of soldiers, squirming around. Rushed off their feet as though their lives depended on it. Striding with pride, despite much pain, independent identities were never forgotten. The characteristic required to be soldier were always put first.
A smudged black glass sky, a dingy grey sea and colourless sand. Black, grey and drained of colour. A place where the sun should be seeping into your bones, lighting the sky with hope and the fillings the clouds with smiles, your left with just the cold, hard, solid floor.
Oxygen taken away, taken over by smoke. People out to destroy anything in sight – from unwanted belongings to the living, breathing luxuries involved in life. Injured men. Bodies lying, perishing – bewildered in the pure black void of smoke. This place was no man’s land, although very much alive, as if the Earth itself was crying from its core and kicking out in pain.
Soldiers stood in the vintage white bandstand and respectfully sang on behalf of all those lost. For the friends, comrades or the ones who had no hope to help. To the one’s who could be no longer helped. The ferris wheel – known for its joy – still active. A merry-go-round – known for it’s fun – slowly spinning. This place was supposed to be filled full of life – whereas as now this place is just a somewhere where lifeless bodies are left to be washed away. No respect. No help. Forever waiting for their frozen pain-stricken faces to be put to rest, eyes wide open – yet just owned by an empty shell. Waiting for someone to come along and say “Sweet Dreams”.