Beneath bruised hills

 The grey clouds darkened the dead landscape beneath. Chartreuse hills, a husk of their former lush selves, rolled into the country side and beyond; their gashed and bruised fields evident as far as the eye could see. Secluded in the tall grass and ruins of homes, hid a frail park.

 Breaking the unchanging sky above, a soldier hobbled over the horizon into the fields below. He ran as fast as he could despite his limp, never stopping to look back. Never stopping to look back at the sky which was now lighting up with distant gunfire. Never going back for the friends, he had left behind. Always would their faces, swamped with horrified realisations, haunt his thoughts.

 The soldier gripped the cold fence of the park and leapt over, ignoring the pain coursing through him. Bark crunched in the empty air as he stepped over to the first bench he saw. His exhausted body collapsed onto its embrace and he heard the groan of the soft wood beneath him, he rested an arm over its back and felt the green paint flake and break apart under his light touch. The flakes were like crusty leaves escaping in the wind. Eager to leave this graveyard behind. He huffed a heavy sigh and tried to relax in his trembling body and embrace the innocent park around him. The climbing frame, the pair of swings, the rusted roundabout and the slide he would push his sister down.

 It was then that he realised where he was.

 A figment. A distant memory. The soldier heard his mother calling his name as he rushed to the park. “Ethan!” She called. He looked back at his mother with a beaming smile, one almost as bright as the flowers that surrounded their miniscule village, and leapt over the park fence. Ethan ran to the swings and stood on the seat to get the higher ground. The sweet summer scent of flowers and picnics tickling his nose.

 The soldier longed for that life to return. He sniffed the air but instead his nose was stung from the layer of gunpowder that occupied the air now. The blood trail he had left on the hill caught his eye and he imagined who the gunshots were for when he was running. He thought of the people he had left behind. Now and in the distant past. Familiar faces, unfamiliar faces. He only just noticed the corpses he had stumbled past on the way down; this place truly was a graveyard now. He would never know who they were. Or if they ever lived here too. The wind picked up for a moment and the swing groaned in response. He rose from his seat and staggered forward, reminiscing on every memory he had from the swings alone.

 He remembered being pushed on them by his father: his laughter so strong he could hardly breathe. He remembered pushing his young sister on them, her laughter just the same as his. The discussions he had with his friends around them about life, relationships and school felt so real. So real yet so alien now. He remembered sobbing from his heart to his mother as she sat beside him as empty as a statue, when his father died in the war. The same civil war he fights now.

 He brushed the rusted chain with the back of his hand and listened to the aching sounds of the swings again. He shuddered, keeping the tears in his eyes the best he could. He considered falling onto the swing to relieve the pain in his body but refused to tamper anymore out of fear of breaking anything.

 Ethan had already moved onto the climbing frame by the time his mother and sister had entered through the gate. He bounced on the spot, eager for his mother and sister to join in with him but was disappointed when his mother noticed the other parents and sat with them. He was close to starting a tantrum but her smile, even from so far away, soothed him. His sister dawdled to him, blabbering his name. He launched her into the air, pretending she was a plane, and helped her up the climbing frame so she could see the expanse of fields around them in all their glory. He held her warm body in his arms with a smile touching both ends of his face. He spoke to her with a cherishment his father had shown him and felt his heart warm when he noticed his sister mimic his smile.

 The soldier stood at the base of the charred climbing frame and looked up at where he held his sister many years ago. Tears brimmed the cheeks of his scrunched face and he struggled to repress the memories he shared with her.

 The echo of ducks quacking grabbed the soldier’s attention but just as he came upon the pond, he knew it too would have been swallowed by the conflict. The grass surrounding its perimeter was so tall it was barely possible to notice the putrid body of water. If it wasn’t for the foul smell he would’ve tumbled in and likely never clambered out. Resting on its black surface was a child’s teddy bear. An arm and a leg had been torn off, making an entrance for the pond’s Wolffia to attack and devour the bear’s fluffy insides, but its pleasant smile remained. The soldier snatched it out of the water and held its limp body to his face. He stared at it, wondering if it belonged to anyone he used to know. And if they were still alive.

 As the soldier left the park, left his past behind for the final time, he sat the teddy bear on the bench. He leapt over the same fence to leave and shunned the pain that tried to grab his attention. Despite it feeling worryingly worse now. He stared at the rubble that he knew his house was a part of and felt the tears rush down his bruised, battered and bleeding face.