The Eyes of a Child

On the cliff top, he stood. A breeze cascaded past him, tousling his long white hair and whispering in his ear secrets that only he could know. A veteran of the earthly toil, and perhaps aged past the years that life had breathed into his frame. Turning his expression downward, he surveyed with sad eyes the valley that he had once called home. He thought to himself about all of the times he had there once upon a time. “Why couldn’t he be a child again,” he wondered, as he stared at the land. Trees at either end were now nothing but dead wood, having been fallen in the struggle of battle. Whole clods of dirt were upturned throughout, leaving the valley virtually empty of grass. Bodies of men were scattered about, still clutching their shameless implements of destruction. They were now unknowing and uncaring of who was the enemy, and who the ally. Wherever he cast his glance, the same desolation littered the landscape. He turned his head, feeling sick to the stomach. So...