A battlefield and Something

     The field is  littered with bodies and the color of dreams not fulfilled tinted the visage of the landscape. It would seem that the cold ash covered tapestry was proof that whatever battles that raged here were so horrible , so complete in the conquering of light, so desperate, yes, it would seem that these men were saved by the mercy of death. A beam of light that had traveled for eons made its way towards the dark canvass. It was as if the light became alive and very afraid as it reached the field. It was as if, somehow, this collection of protons gained insight into the past and wanted no part of the darkness that haunted the field like a ghost haunting the ghost of something that never lived. Dismal is too weak of a word and too happy of a word still, to describe the absence glowing from the sadness of this field. And yet, something stirs.In the mist of the ruble, the collar of a jacket starts to ever so slowly rise. But how could this be? It has been at least 30,000 years since the last battle took place and this quarantined area of the planet has been cut off for almost as long.  And yet something stirs. But what?