Liza's son came home from the field. Her face carried a mixture of joy and sorrow. She carried a bunch of flowers to welcome and decorate him. It was a warm summer morning but when she touched his body, it felt colder. Men in army uniform carried her son's coffin to where he would be buried, along with other fallen soldiers.
The gravesite was filled with the wails and tears of parents who had hoped and prayed for their sons to return home safely. They remembered when they had left to fight the war for their country. Some cried while some gave their final hugs. Liza was in both categories. She was joyful because he was brought home, and not lost like many others. Sorrowful because she thought he would be home alive. Her son and many others had hoped to bring honor to their families. What they brought instead was sorrow and pain. They were like preys with predators. They couldn't avoid death once at the battle field but what did they know? They were brainwashed into thinking that they would become heroes and have better lives.
Those fallen men had dreams of being important people in their society, to change the world. Now , they were corpses that would soon turn to dust. Their bodies clothed with their uniforms and their coffins decorated with national flags and ribbons.
As the soldiers were laid into their holes to rest, Liza began to wonder how different her son's life would have been.
He would have been a teacher, an engineer, an artist. But there was no money to fulfill any of those dreams.
Perhaps in another life, it would be fulfilled. She hoped the same for others.
But now, they laid underground with unfulfilled dreams. It was true what people say. A graveyard was the most fertile land, for it was filled with wasted dreams.
Their holes were now covered with dirt. Liza and other families wept as they left the graveyard. It would be the last time their sons would ever dream again.
It was a winter afternoon. Liza sat by the window, facing the green grass field. It was her fault but at the same time, it wasn't. She should have stopped him. War was either kill or be killed. But the superiors should have stopped the war from happening. How many sons and now daughters were they going to lose, all just to feed their ego and pride. It tore families apart just thinking whether their children would make it out alive, with some hopelessly knowing that they won't.
The war had spread, now entering her beloved village. Her friends and neighbors had harmed themselves, just in case. Her closest friend had given her a gun to protect herself. She knew how to use it, but never in her once peaceful life thought she would need it. She hoped and prayed it would end soon. She assured herself that it would.
Liza thought about the war as she laid on the cold concrete floor of her room. Her long silver hair formed a spiral around her. All the years of fighting had finally paid off. But at what cost? She looked at the small pendant in her hand and then gazed at the drawings on the walls. They were a painful reminder of what could have been if times were better. Her empty house echoed in silent laughter, lost warmth and frozen memories. She had lost her friends, neighbors and comrades during the war.
She groaned in pain and heartache. As she gathered strength to stand on her feet, her eyes caught a framed photo on the table. A bright smiling face of a little boy stared back at her. She walked towards it and held it close. Her son was her light, her hope, her joy. She cradled the photo like a baby, trying to feel him but she couldn't. She was too numb to feel anything. There were no tears in her eyes. She couldn't cry anymore.
No. She couldn't live anymore.
Living in her house was a nightmare. She thought as she mindlessly doused it with petrol. She stood in front of it, giving it one last look. As she lit a match, the memories flooded her mind, as if they were trying to stop her. But it was too late. Her grief was too strong. She watched her once beautiful and lovely house crash and burn into ashes.
The dandelion field was the favorite place she and her son would go. Relaxing, enjoying the cool breeze, spying on their neighbors and laughing at their jokes. Now, it was just a quiet place filled with memories of war, blood and death. Her beautiful village held too many traumatic memories for her to bear. Its lively atmosphere was now too quiet, almost driving her into insanity.
In one hand was the pendant she had found on her son's corpse and in the other was a silver gun that was given to her by her closest friend. They would accompany her to her death. She hoped that there was an afterlife. She wanted to see them again.
She turned back to look at her home one last time. She closed her eyes as she pointed the gun to her head. Her son’s face flashed in her mind as she let out one last breath.
The quiet place was momentarily disturbed by a bang. She laid on the ground with a bloody head. Her mind had just seven seconds to replay her memories.
One last time.
