In the days that followed, so much happened that I found it hard to keep up with all the changes. We'd been thrust into a war that was beyond our skills and experences and with powers that were far beyond our understanding. The weapons of war were all about us, dripping with the blood of the millions each insturment had claimed, and we had no knowledge of their uses. Rubble up to our knees, we were entrenched in the horrors of a war we had unknowingly helped build. Yet we were so young. Some of us were only ten or twelve years old, hardly coming to grips with the deaths of our loved ones and parents. Blood paved every street in a sadistic image of the cruel onslaught that had played out only hours before we'd returned. Yes, we were mere children submersed in the quarrels of men. Boys who had wandered onto the proving grounds of heroes.

Few survived long enough to make it to cover.

I remember the glorious cries that echoed through the streets that day. Yes, I was amongst one of those who kept his head and managed to stay low when the gunfire started up. On my right was one who was not so lucky. I remember his name was Arthur, he was only fourteen at the time, his birthday was only a week or so ago at that. Still, they saw no difference in who they shot at. He cried out as blood burst from his shirt back, peppering the little girl behind him in a rather grotesque manner. She stood still, shocked, as he fell away and they opened up fire on her as well. I turned away, unable to watch such a horrid slaughter. Instead I turned my head to the teary eyes beside me, eyes that peered over bone white hands that dug into my shoulder fiercely. Arthur had been her brother, but now she had no one but me. Strangely, I didn't know her name.