He was dead. He died out in the field.
Our kid had fought valiantly along with all the other young lads. Don’t know what we were fighting for, or against, but it was in endless trenches, under a darkened sky (think matrix style, when it cuts to the sun-less sky, and fields of humans being harvested for energy).
There was no emotion – there wasn’t time. It was getting dark and we had to get back. I had left something out in the field though. I ran down the slope to the start of the field, and was grabbed back by someone.
It had started to snow gently, and in he distance, I could see large four legged creatures loitering round the dead bodies in the trenches. They looked like wolves, but I don’t know if they were.
We’d been brought here on an old coach, down some country lanes, and our ‘base’, if it could be called that’ was a small row of white houses, at the top of a gentle slope, which lead first into a field, and then into those horrible trenches.
A scene change had me in some form of office come shopping centre, which had a suspended staircase which was really, really fucking high up.