• And she flew over the rolling hills no longer green but stained red. He stood at the base of one, a weapon in arm, eyes closed surveying the land. And as he stood, he looked, out with closed eyes, blood on his cheeks, his arms. She looked on; familiar faces on familiar bodies littered the ground. The river ran, blood in each wave, through the rolling his to the end of the world. And there is was. A red river falling, falling, the water never stopping, it was a sight to see. Wings tired, she landed. Feet sore she dragged on, past the corpses. They followed her, they wanted her, She came to the edge, looked back. He saw her, with closed eyes, nodded, a sign to proceed. The lifeless grey moon shined on her, on him. She took a step forward, she feel. Wings open, she flew, down, wherever this red river ran, she would follow. The bodies, catching up, would not get her, he would not see her. And the rolling hills, with the red river kept on existing. Even though she was gone, and his eyes were closed. Falling, falling; where will it go?