Tears

Dust drifted from the murky sky, carelessly dancing atop the stale wind, regardless of the blinding dusk, ignorant of the deafening bombardment that had kicked it up beforehand. 

The rain likewise fell from the overarching clouds, somehow unable to hide the rouge light from which it emanated. 

Droplets littered the tainted ground, disseminated amidst resemblant peers, coagulating into a hideous, repugnant swamp in the manmade crevices of the earth. 

Structures that had at some time towered to the sky were toppled and torn, reduced to intimidating rubble that threatened to slide and cover those below in an unpunctual grave. It was between these semblances of buildings where withered souls were entrenched in war, waiting for the other side to die off, or perhaps attending to the moment their time comes, and death leads them away from living hell.

For the most part, people held tight to their lives. It was the only thing they had left when their bodies were condemned to service and their minds were left to rot. 

The horrid, vicious liquid of the trench began to crawl out of the holes in which they were supposed to be buried, almost as if dead comrades had come from the grave in a repulsive pursuit of revenge. 

With his pale-black eyes stuck to the sky, Mark lightly sighed. He filled himself with broken, dreadful resolve and inhaled the foul he had almost become accustomed to. 

There was a tangy scent of iron, though he could tell that from the reddened corpses around him.

He was thankful for the blood, it was the best part... for as much as that was worth. 

Accompanying the iron scent were the less desirable, more pukeworthy miasmas that he lived with. 

It's not like there was any perfume to use in the wretched pits. All he had to liven up his outdoor abode were the bodily fluids within. 

After blood, sweat, and saliva, there wasn't much left except for a few unwelcome, yet utterly necessary wastes. 

Once again, he failed to fully bury them. 

Sighing, Mark crawled up on the slope he had so precisely picked out. It seemed to be safe from the rising swamp of filth. 

Most unwelcome among the various nuisances of the uncouth environment was the disease that resulted from it all. The hanging plague clandestinely swung its blade and claimed many unknowing, unsuspecting lives. There were probably a few corpses in a meter's proximity that had suffered such a fate.

And so, he climbed to a spot on the slope that lay desperately close to the edge of sight. If he were to go too far up, some person would probably be waiting to put a bullet in his back. While that might not immediately kill him, it will definitely make living a pain. 

He was stuck lying on a slope like a lazy sloth, not so far from death above as he is from depravity down below. 

The rain mercilessly pelleted his face with frigid intensity, as if willing him toward a sickness that he was almost inevitably approaching. 

Some steps splashed in a senselessly close proximity as two soldiers passed through the sullen trench. uncaringly spreading the bile to previously untouched, pristine places. 

As soon as annoyance flashed in his mind, Mark stretched out with his ability to the approaching duo. 

The filth-proliferating bastards slowed down in dread, probably looked at his seemingly uncaring yet serious self, then carefully continued on their way. 

Little as it was, one boon of being drafted is that his ability as a 'Blessed' was able to be utilized to any extent he wished. it didn't make him feel better at all, but at least it was something. 

He might as well make use of what he had; and though it would contribute nearly nothing to escaping his predicament, maybe a few mobile body bags can be obtained. 

'Huh. Isn't that a bit dark? Well, it's not like us soldiers can do much more than that, so maybe it isn't that bad...'

Continuing to rest, he allowed his mind to drift around whatever subject it wished to approach. The most liberated thing he currently had was his mind, so it might as well wander as it wishes. 

Above everything else, Mark was most stunned by the rate his transition to the field had occurred. 

It was only a few days ago that he had been simply taught to fire a rifle, which, he already knew how to do. Then right after, as if he were some finished product in a factory, he was shipped off in a boat to the lands where all the fighting was, and tediously walked the rest until he unwillingly stuck himself in the pit where he currently lay. 

Now, he had all the time in the world before he was called up into one of the dreadful charges to the enemy side, which from the estimations of his dead acquaintances rested about 100 meters away. 

He cherished the moments he stayed tied to his mortal self, using each instance to gather up companions or restlessly ponder. 

It felt like he was missing something. 

A concept, mindset, or perhaps even an item that feels so close, and yet remains just out of his reach - almost in the way that the moon graces itself to the skies above during the lurid, star-filled nights.

Maybe one day he will be able to reach forward and grasp what has been so annoyingly eluding him. It might even give him the clarity and answer to escaping his predicament; that, or at least it would let him survive until the solution shows itself. 

Reaching up, he grasped the translucent rain that fell from above, clasping it into an impromptu cup. 

The pristine water filled his slightly tainted hands while he cautiously brought them down and poured the cool nourishment into his mouth. 

It splashed amongst his lips, and a lot of it missed, but he didn't care. Rain had finally graced him with pure water, what lunatic would pass up such an opportunity? 

He smiled as the rain continued to streak down, feeling the slightest warmth radiating from his eyes.