Literature
Short story #1 Oak on the Hill
Wind blew gently over the hills. The crisp chilly dusk breeze carried forth by temperature changes. A single figure started to approach the hill where a great oak stood atop, it’s branches swaying gently with the night air. The figure shuffled forward, clutching his side. Behind him lay countless bodies of faceless soldiers now laying in the grass, their blood seeping out staining the surroundings crimson. Blood dripped from him as he started to peel off his pierced protective armor. His metal gloves, caked in blood of foes and his own, fell to the ground first. Tumbling down the hill a short ways as he kept his pace towards the top. Next his chest armor clattered off, stepping over it he was able to hold himself a bit higher now with the weight gone. Though now his wound was exposed to the cool air. Blood drying from his gash from his kidney to his navel. Finally his helmet dropped to the ground, rolling past the chest piece only to rest with the gloves partly down the hill. His