by Kace Abella
"It's time to go."
Death's cold voice echoed through the cries of the crowd.
A kid of skin and bones in tattered clothes looked at death with much emptier eyes.
"I'm scared."
The child trembled.
"What awaits me is void, filled with nothing but fear.
I want to be with my family,
far from the noise of bombs and guns,
from the earsplitting cries of victims."
Death reached out a cold hand.
"What awaits you is the pleasant heat of spring,
the warmth amidst the cold.
You will suffer no more,
for you are now free from the exploits of war."