Blood Harvest

There comes a time when loyalties divided can become percieved as sides chosen. When survival can be mistaken for a deceptive assault on a friend, and when a moment of weakness can be taken as an attempt to sway the opinion of others. There is an instance when the smile of a friend can hide the shadows of your own doubts, and when what was routine and safe now seems to bode ill for all.

There is a weakness in giving trust to others; when that weakness is exposed, be it through circumstance or abuse, it is human nature to attempt to dam the flow of vulnerability to the best of our abilities. When it seems as though it is you or them, the concern over collateral damage becomes minute in the face of adrenaline-fueled action. The weapons of battle have been spotted, and any losses incurred must be rationalized to become acceptable.

Until you stand on a battlefield, your banner torn and broken, and the field empty of all life except your own. Then you begin to see that what you took for a seige-engine was actually a pony cart, the wicked blades of war but scythes used to harvest wheat. There is no resurrecting the dead or regenerating of lost limbs and hopes. There is only starting again in another way, perhaps wiser and more careful than you were. Whether you are sadder and more bitter is truly up to you--and is not contingent on anyone else's actions.

Think on it...