As you lay, dying on the field of battle, you wonder. You begin to ponder the questions of life as you bleed out, soldiers stepping over you as they rush towards the enemy combatants. What is life, even, if it can be so easily thrown away in a pointless battle?
You must survive. There has to be a way. You want to shout to the others that you are not yet dead, that they can still rescue you. There was a medical station somewhere nearby, if your memory serves you correctly; if it is still there, there is still hope for you. But you cannot muster the strength to shout. Your neck is bleeding too heavily.
You turn your head to look at your hand. It was severed. You cannot even remember how that happened. What luck you have. It pains you to do so, but you look around. Amidst all the explosions and chaos, you still do not see any other fallen troops that have joined you on this painful track to oblivion. You are the only one of your kind. A snowflake of death.
Why were you the only one to die in this battle? You hear the screams and shouts. They were brought into this world to die just like you were taken out; why only you? There had to be some sort of reason. Maybe you were to be an example for the rest of the army, and these other soldiers were actually running away from the enemy. You can not actually tell whether they were fighting or not. It is too dim to tell. If you could only remember how you were shot, it would be so much easier to figure out… And yet, your memory continues to fail you. Your frustration grows.
You can see the rotting carcasses of what were once mighty trees off in the distance, casualties of the battle, just like you. Were you to be cast aside just as pointlessly as these plants? It seemed so. You should have never joined the army; it was a useless decision that led to naught but your own end, and you knew it would be just like this from the start. What other purpose is there for a soldier than to die?
If there was a God, he would have saved you by now. Everything would have been okay. But it is not. You are about to die, and there is no way out of it. Completely useless. You prayed every single day, morning and night, and what do you get for it? Nothing. Damn Him. Damn that God to Hell.
Why could he not just save you? Just pick you up and put you in the medical station. It would be so easy. You would do anything! Please! You shout with an intensity that is unrivaled, but it is all within your own mind. That is the only place left for you.
It was hopeless after all to even think about being saved. As meaningless as those trees. The stumps where they used to be seemingly laugh at you. They already felt the cold embrace of death, and jeer at you for your struggle to live. They cannot wait for you to experience what they already have, and giggle in their immense pleasure.
What right have they to be in such joy over your death? You did not rejoice when you were forced to burn them down to a crisp I preparation of the battle. It almost pained you to do it. But when you are on the verge of your end, they are on the verge of tears in their laughter. You hate them.
But you find solace in them, as well. Comfort that you have someone to relate to. They know the feel of death; it is something that normal people could never understand, until it has finally occurred to them. You want to join these trees; for the rest of the world is silent in regards to you. Even if they accept you with a mocking tone, at least they do so. At least they acknowledge your existence.