As I lie here in the dust, with the ground trembling underneath me, it suddenly strikes me just how ridiculous our wars are. Men, armed with the same weapons, feeling the same feelings, and fighting for the same thing - to protect loved ones, to protect their honour - end up fighting each other. In a rational world, in a decent world, it would never happen.

And as I lie bleeding, my life slowly seeping back into the earth that gave it, I feel a sudden mourning. Not so much as for my death, or the pointless deaths of all of us, but for the timing of my revelation. Like a match, struck in a storm - the potential for fire, the potential for brilliance, cruely snuffed out before it even has a chance to pass on its warmth or energy. Except it's not raindrops and wind that have snuffed my flame - no, my blood sticks to bullets and the politicians that send them. Its strange how in this moment of death, when my life should be slowing and draining, I can suddenly see. A short, sharp laugh, wracks my body, but is cut short - my battered and crippled flesh cries out in pain and stops me. Jammed against the wall, I am forced to observe my own demise. The torn, shattered body that I once called mine, traitorously spilling my life onto the sand. Even blood on sand seems to lack life, I notice: it's absorbed before it has a chance to pool and shine, leaving only dirty red patches for me to stare at.

Then my thoughts turn to the people I care for. My family, my friends, I only wanted to protect them - but now I know that my passing will cause them pain. They never would accept how meaningless I was. The would never admit that they were all worth 1000 of me. And now they will cry. All so pointless. I feel a tear slide down my cheek, hot to the point of pain, and am ashamed. I couldnt even keep my dignity in death. I brush the tear away with a tiring hand, and see it come away with blood - more blood. Blood everywhere. I can feel the pain now. I can feel that my body is shattered. I can feel the shards buried in my flesh. My eyes haven't moved from my bloody hand, and they slowly follow it downwards as I can no longer carry its weight. It hits the sand and sinks slightly, rolling to the left, tiny grains clinging to the moisture. Clinging for what? What do they hope to achieve? There's something poetic in that. Something analogous. But my mind is too tired. Too addled with pain. Noise still surrounds me, with pain ricocheting inside. My lungs wont draw another breath. How ironic, that I missed my own last breath. Or maybe it isn't. Maybe everyone does.

My eyelids are closing now. I didn't ask them to. Why are they closing? Am I dying? Yes, I think I am. It's all very confusing. They're closed now. The distant bangs of explosions and death slowly fade further. All is quiet now. I've never heard absolute silence before. Can you hear silence? I cant smell the dust anymore. Maybe somebody swept it all up. The rest of my body seems to be floating... the pain's gone. Well that's good. I feel... slow. My mind wont work. It wont work. I think I'm dying. Am I? Think so.