He was holding his side, blood running through his fingers. Despite the pressure he was applying on the wound, it didn't stop the blood flow. He pulled out the arrow long ago, and it was quite hard since it was stuck in between two pieces of armor. It was too late now. He would not live long, but he did not care.
All around him was a barren wasteland. Fallen soldiers were laying on the ground, staining the dried mud crimson. Their eyes were wide in shock, their mouths hanging open. The landscape was a mass of gray. Ashes swirled around him, and he wished for the wind again. But it did not blow here in this dead valley. Even nature refused to arise again, with such bloodshed in the past.
A few bare trees were growing here and there, but nothing was more significant than a feeble-looking thicket of bushes. Nothing was around. Nobody was around. Only he was alive. But not for long.
He wasn't even sure why they had started this war. It was unnecessary and a misunderstanding. But here he was, abandoned in a valley, where only a few hours prior, there was the most dreadful and horrid wars of them all.
He didn't know why humanity fights each other. He and the rest of his kind were all the same. Dark skin, fair skin, brown eyes, blue eyes, black hair, red hair...after all, they are all human. What is the point of killing millions of people?
He didn't know why. He will never know why.
He took one last raspy breath and fell to his knees. He gasped, but he knew this was the end. He died with nobody to remember him, among so many others.
Author Notes: Violence is never the answer.