Post by Roderich Edelstein on Dec 6, 2010 18:49:07 GMT -5
There is little to this place, except blood, shrapnel, and a feeling of remorse penetrating the silence of the battlefield. Roderich never liked silence, or anything empty. He once spent his days trying to conquer silence with pretty notes, emptiness with the smell of sweets, and loneliness with ring after ring upon his hand. However, the abyss seems to plague him constantly; after every defeat what will greet him is that same solitude. It appears to be mocking death as well, since Roderich knows that only hours ago this was a place full of lights and bangs and feeling. Now it is empty.
He steps over another body, so damaged he cannot tell whether it is one of his or his allies' children or that man’s. Nevertheless he bends down and takes out his cross, making the sign of the trinity as an offering, before pressing his rosary to the dead soldier's bloody forehead and offering a kiss upon the wood. The battle has just ended; there is no need for people to take these to Bloody Angel Pass yet. No everyone is off, unwilling to face the silence of war.
This war, it is different. It wasn’t like the old ones, where the world participated, no there is one enemy for Austria. An enemy he thought himself rid of, a man who he helped, someone who he spilled tears for during the Iron Curtain that was on the edge of his own country. He makes his way to a small part of the battle field surrounded by the dead, but it is clear of the carnage. Austria stands on the land that feels like the eye of a hurricane, before flopping down unto the grass and lying on it. He doesn’t know what time it is. Or when and how the battle again. Roderich doesn’t even know who won, but the feeling of pain in his heart and wounds he accumulated out of nowhere on his arms tell him the answer. His military uniform is blemished with dirt, those thin arms Maria Theresa once remarked upon tainted red.
Though it hurts to move, he manages to detach his Glock off his gun bolster, placing the pistol on his chest. His arms drop unto the ground as he just lies there, waiting for the quiet on the front to cease.
He steps over another body, so damaged he cannot tell whether it is one of his or his allies' children or that man’s. Nevertheless he bends down and takes out his cross, making the sign of the trinity as an offering, before pressing his rosary to the dead soldier's bloody forehead and offering a kiss upon the wood. The battle has just ended; there is no need for people to take these to Bloody Angel Pass yet. No everyone is off, unwilling to face the silence of war.
This war, it is different. It wasn’t like the old ones, where the world participated, no there is one enemy for Austria. An enemy he thought himself rid of, a man who he helped, someone who he spilled tears for during the Iron Curtain that was on the edge of his own country. He makes his way to a small part of the battle field surrounded by the dead, but it is clear of the carnage. Austria stands on the land that feels like the eye of a hurricane, before flopping down unto the grass and lying on it. He doesn’t know what time it is. Or when and how the battle again. Roderich doesn’t even know who won, but the feeling of pain in his heart and wounds he accumulated out of nowhere on his arms tell him the answer. His military uniform is blemished with dirt, those thin arms Maria Theresa once remarked upon tainted red.
Though it hurts to move, he manages to detach his Glock off his gun bolster, placing the pistol on his chest. His arms drop unto the ground as he just lies there, waiting for the quiet on the front to cease.