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Before And After A War Essay

The fields used to go on for miles. Vast amounts of luscious greenery, smothering every ounce of the gravely earth like a thick duvet. Tiny seed saplings nourished themselves; they were bedded into the smallest patch of dirt to maintain that extra bit of warmth, even though the sun sizzled brightly in the glistening blue sky. There were lots of unusual flowers here. All dotted around the place, so rich and luxurious, like a freshly made canvas which an artist has flicked their runny paint upon. It was picture perfect. Something that should be hung up in a grand hall for everyone to notice.

It was so peaceful here. The sound of blue birds and robins, singing lullabies in the tall towers of the trees as they swung swiftly in the light breeze. I liked to come here to relax. So quiet. The humming from a Queen bee as it nestled upon a fox glove, collecting pollen. Such a simple life. So carefree. You could smell the sweet pollen tainting everything which went right up my nose making it twitch and itch vigorously. Their, flower scents would trail throughout the air like some kind of fragrant ghost. It was very deserted and was quite a secluded area.

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It was good to come here and think from time to time, to clear my head. When trudging through this emerald wasteland you could occasionally see the scurrying of a hare, darting around fidgeting in it’s burrow, or just simply running around freely. You could see the adrenaline in its mysterious amber eyes. That shimmered and gleamed in the light, similarly to mine when I used to gaze deeply into a blazing fireplace. Your feet would sink into this apple green grass with its texture like horse hair, but would immediately spring back as soon as you stepped off.

It was so full of new life. You would think you were imagining everything you saw in this place like something taken straight from a fairytale book, minus the pixies and dragons. The butterflies would make up for that. They fluttered around like pairs of eyelashes, which would be very calming to watch, but their wings were enough to hypnotize anyone. The patterns on them were amazing like embroidery, all intertwining with one another as though they should be sewn together like laced fabric. They were very mesmerizing.

Daisies and Daffodils delicately covered parts of mother earth and because not many people would come here it was almost as if it felt lonely. Like it wanted children to come play and enjoy what it could offer. The daises were like dust covering anything else that wasn’t grass. They were hardly trodden on. It would almost make the place cleaner if there weren’t any flowers. In the distance past the sloping hill tops you could see the smallest winding road, which cars drove steadily along. It looked like millions of tiny ants crawling along a thin prickly twig.

If you looked at it now you wouldn’t think it was the same place. Now this is after the devastating, retched war broke out. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Is this a nightmare? I close my eyes and open them again. I think my eyes are deceiving me. I close them again and open them a second time, rubbing my eyes constantly until they are sore and bloodshot red. Making them coarse and rugged, blurring my perception in the process, but I would have preferred to have seen this than that what it truly was. I pinch myself over and over again but I knew it was reality.

Everything has gone. Dead. There is no more luscious greenery which would have been made to suit heaven. Just soot from burnt sods. The parched hungry earth has drunk up all the rain making it dry and dehydrated. My throat is closing up. Caving in on me. Suffocating me like someone was trying to stuff a sock down it. There are no more flowers they have all vanished. Ruined, wrecked. All those people risking their lives now just lie still on the floor, not moving like a statue. Lifeless, this is like everything else around here.

The plants, the tall towering trees have all rotted away, disappeared, leaving nothing but ash and deceased carcasses clinging to the ground like a blood sucking leech, which used to be long lush lively grass. The scent in the air is now disgustingly nauseating; it hit me like a bullet to the nose instead of a bullet to the heart unlike for my friends here all piled up one on top of the other. They are all so disfigured covered in thick righteous blood with hardly any limbs; it would be a vampires dream. It is all so mutilating something that should be shown in some kind of outrageous loathsome horror movie with gore and blood.

It’s like walking through a butchers shop or some kind of animal slaughterhouse. The earth used to be so smooth and pure now it is not so innocent with pit falls of holes and craters like the moons surface abusing, scarring Mother Nature. You can barely see anything now; the murky sleepy sheep like clouds have overcast everything making it dusky, brittle and unbearable to see anything. I think I’m walking on my own grave or going to over a million funerals at once everything so dull and impaired. You can hear shrieks from above, from every angle I turn.

I can hazily make out through the mist that it is vultures. This is the only living thing I can see. They can smell death. They can sense it. The vultures are hideous all ruffled, screeching at the top of their lungs this isn’t the sweet tune of the robins and blue birds I used to hear this is a painful scream which rings through my ears like a foghorn or a siren making them throb and pulsate with anger. These vultures are scrounging, famished looking for flesh to peck out with their gigantic, broken beaks. I feel as though I’m already dead.

Trenching through some kind of underworld where nothing is peaceful. The taste of cold blooded raw meat on my tangible taste buds. So repulsive like the scent of dead, wet, rats poisoned in a sewer, all slushy like a sludgy swamp. The ash cut away at my eyes like a knife would do to a raw vegetable, as the aggressive wind barged its way through making my eyes water like they do with onions. This earth has swallowed up my only fantasy. This harsh war is scarring my memories. I would rather be dead, than to see this day ever again I wish it would swallow me up too.

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