This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Coastal Carolina chapter.
The ground is covered in a deep dying brush
Like a carpet made of the once living.
Each step is followed by a boney crunch.
You are walking on a battle ground,
lives ditched in hopes of survival.
Some battles were lost.
The dead don’t smell dead.
The dead smell clean,
Almost even relaxing. But don’t worry.
The dead don’t mind,
that you are comforted by them.
You are walking on a battle ground.
You see some in their own defense,
have fallen to join the carpet.
The battle is ending.
Music plays for the dead,
Soft distant music.