The stench of the death boiled in the hot sun. Corpses lay sprawled over each other littering the soil of the fields. Patches of grass lie scarce, some strands flutter in the sooty air. Smoke as black as night folds a blanket over the dead. Not all are even old info to categorize as men. Young boy’s dressed grandly in there uniform. Blood that might not even be there’s are splattered over there bodies and faces. Not all corpses are in one piece. Things small as fingers and as large as torsos lie on there own. Disconnected from all other human organs. Flies feast away at the flesh of the fallen. No arms flap them away. No nothing flaps them away. Maggots eaten away at the parts of their faces. Eyes and cheeks are absents. The skulls are starting to be exposed to the light of the sun. In a patch of untouched ground a young girl stands. No older then seven stands among the fallen troops. A red poppy twiddles in her tiny hand. Her white Sunday dress brushed with red at the very bottom. Her long brown hair draped behind her shoulders. The small breeze flows a strand or so loosely away from the others. In the far distance, she hears shots of riffles and cannons. As more take there last steps. She kneels down and lays her poppy on the chest of her father. Though no tears fall, her heart lies in a thousand pieces at the pit of her stomach. She stands there, as if lifeless herself until the colors of the sky themselves changed to red. Sunset, and her time to leave. She says the only prayer she was ever taught over her fathers remains. Before turning and making her way back through the maze of the dead.