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This diary entry is written by ‹ReproducesWithPancakes›. ( View all entries )
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Lost Love Part OneCategory: (general)
Friday, 6 July 2012
04:27:54 PM (GMT)
Candles flickered gently along the stone gray walls, leaving a faint glow to the
stone floor, where an ornate red rug lay, traveling off into oblivion.Candelabras
hung from the stone ceiling, burning a bit brighter than the ones on the wall, a foot
apart from each other.The hallway resembled a small dungeon.

It was calmly silent inside the hallway, until a faint pitter-patter of soft velvet
sandals were heard, growing louder with each step, but not tremendously loud.Out of
the darkness came a woman, about five feet, four inches tall, petite body style,
bleached blonde, lightly golden curls adorning her face, with ruby rose red lips, and
light misty blue eyes.The woman had on a knee length dress, with aqua blue ribbon
around the base, and her waist.The ribbon was tied in back around her waist, aqua
polka dots on lain on the white base of her dress, with the dress straps tied around
her neck, aqua blue.

She had on matching blue velvet slippers, her hair pulled into a side pony laying
gently across her left shoulder, and carrying a Victorian style silver tray, carrying
a small teaset for one, with a single pink rose painted on each saucier and cup, gold
handles and gold around the base and tops accompanying it.

The blonde curls bounced farther into the darkness, where, after a couple seconds, a
door was slammed.


The sky was red dawn, mixed with the velvet red blood caked delicately on the earthy
brown dirt. Male and female cries were heard out all around, mixed cries of pain,
hunger, thirst, horror, yearns for family members and loved ones, dying
hallucinations, and the clicks of weapons.On-hand doctors and nurses ran around the
battlefield, tending to wounded and horrified.

A few body parts were strewn around the field, patches of camouflague still left on
the limbs, bloodied around the tops, jagged bone sticking out.A soldier lay on the
ground farthest away from the others, his eyes glassy and watered over.His brown hair
was brandished with blood, dirt and caky blood plastered all over his chiseled face
with sweat.His camo was in the same shape, leading off to a ripped off knub on his
left side.

This one didn't cry out, nor did he shed a tear.He knew from all his experience of
training, of those many many boot camps, of the survival show, of his mother and his
wife, that those would not help him at all in his situation.That he didn't have
anything to help him in this situation.

He gazed at the discarded hand, of God know's who, laying about a foot away from him,
before slipping his eyelids down, submissive to the light and what he knew would come
all along.As his last breath tumbled and churned out of his worn out chest, a word
slightly slipped off his tongue, illegible to anyone else, but it seemed his frown
cracked into a slight smile, as he said the precious, forgotten name to himself,

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