When we arrived, the archaic fort with the inscrutable moat brought a relaxing yet serious tone into the air.

Walking on the perfectly manicured grass made me ponder the despaired and distressed soldiers that once marched there.

It was difficult to comprehend the true importance and exquisiteness of the aged structure.


The over-cast grey skies made it trite and hackneyed, as if I were a soldier myself, marching to my own demise.

When underground, the lanterns oozed out just enough light to see merely a few strides in front of me.

In some places, the darkness impeded the light, making it pitch-black in the stone and brick labyrinth.


The cold stone walls echoed whispers and returned them into rasps.

Muffling all the surrounding sounds, the gusting winds made everything vague, dull, and opaque.

When not a soul was in earshot, I finally got a silent moment to reflect on the significance of it all.


What hazards have occurred in these dark corridors?

What strategies have been thought out here, to play the next move in this big conflict of a once united nation?


I contemplated what it would be like to be a patriotic and disciplined soldier, holding a large responsibility and not knowing what mysteries would be in store for me.

I imagine and reflect.
And imagine and reflect.
And imagine and reflect.