He was scared. There’s no denying it. He was scared. Lying there, his blood soaking the grass around him. He placed a hand on the wound in a futile attempt to slow the bleeding. But it was over. He knew that.

The fight was still going on all around him. Men were shouting, crying, and screaming. Rifles and pistols were popping like fireworks, interrupted by the occasional mortar explosion.

He just lied there, unable to move, bleeding to death. Suddenly, a mortar blew a few yards to his right, rocking the ground beneath him. Some more of his buddies died. A cloud of dirt jumped into the air, blocking the sun for a moment.

When it settled, he noticed the leaves above him. They were swaying gently with the breeze. Beyond them, the clouds were gently floating by, oblivious to the horrors down here.

He watched the gentle sway of the branches and admired their natural grace. He felt the warmth of the sun on his skin. “What a beautiful day.” he muttered as his consciousness slipped away.