“You here to finish me off, sweetheart?” -Hunger games

The battlefield was gruesome, to say the least. Bodies scattered the ground, the nauseating smell of blood, flesh and burnt hair oozing into the atmosphere, and a dark cloud hovered above everything, almost a warning of what more is to come.

Grimacing at the unpleasant squelch as I move across the corpse-littered trench, I sigh. The fatigue is setting in, my strength is marred and still waning and yet there is still something I must do. I drag my feet. It’s puttiful, pathetic, really, but there’s no one to witness, no one to see my weak display of vulnerability. A gun is in my hands, a rifle. My hands are unsteady and, judging by the looming cloud, the rain will get to my gunpowder and make my gun useless.

I survey the area. Just me. How did I survive?

The war was between the Northern and Eastern kingdoms. South and West are busy discussing trade routes while our leaders watch us kill each other just because of some petty argument. Something about King Arius having a crap navy, then another about Queen Lorena and her sad excuse for a government. The world truly is in shambles. Literally. The shambles were the butchers and now the there are people instead of pigs and the buyers are the royals that shamelessly revel in it.

A groan sounds to my left and my hand tightens on my rifle. A man is stirring, dressed in green. Filthy Northeners, they even look like mould.

I walk over, lifting my chin in an attempt to look confident. Well, over a wounded man, I probably look like some hero. It’s when he lifts his head from the mud that I recognise him. Flint… dammit, Flint!

He manages a small smirk, “You here to finish me off, sweetheart?”

I stand my ground, pointing my gun at his forehead, “Just so happens that I am.” He makes a move to get up but I place a foot on his chest to pin him down, “Don’t even bother.”

“This personal, Bria, or you just fancy killing off the green team?” He says it like it’s a dodgeball game. I want to grab him and shake some sense into him, then shoot him in the head and hug him at the same time.

“How’d they let you in?” I say, my voice lowering, eyes flashing dangerously.

Flint shrugs, winces slightly, then forces out, “Tested me to see if I was a spy, they found out I wasn’t and they accepted me. They called me ‘leverage’. Sounds important, huh?”

“Leverage tends to be unenjoyable for the person considered as such.” I keep my voice steady, I can’t show weakness, not in front of him.

He chuckles, “Always so cynical, dear.”

I lift my foot off of his chest, waiting to see if he makes a move. He does, sitting up and rolling his shoulders as if he just woke up from a good night sleep.

“Why’d you join them? The northerners.” I finally say.

“They were the winning side, it was obvious.” He sighs, “In a world where it’s lose lose, I might as well survive, no?”

I hate that I find myself agreeing with him. That traitor, that bastard, that—

“Just you and me. Desolate battlefield.” He looks at me, a fondness in his gaze that makes my heart lurch, “I always liked your fighting style, almost like a dance. I saw you a day ago, it’s almost like you enjoy it.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Standing, Flint hisses in pain, but pushes it down, “You want to finish me? Fine. But I want to know why. Bloodlust? Revenge? Just because you have to finish a job?”

“I’m not gonna kill you.”

He flinches. I freeze.

“You’re too naive.” Flint mutters.

I step closer, “Realistic, sunshine.” I correct.

And, in that moment, Flint’s walls break down and he jumps into my arms, knocking us both over, but I don’t care. Even with the bodies around us, I still embrace him.

We stay there for more than five minutes.

“Run away with me.” He murmurs against my hair abruptly.

I pause, “That’s cowardice”

“There is no war to cower from.”

I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face and I laugh, “very well.”