My steps fall silently against the hard stone and my feet ache from the miles of walking. Murmurs can be heard from all around as lethargic townspeople go about their daily chores.

Glancing upwards, I lick my parched lips and peer through the low fog. The air is heavy with sadness and grief to the point where it’s almost tangible.

War does that to people. It warps beautiful places until they’re nothing more than a stagnant wasteland full of dead things. One might only be able to see the trampled beauty if they look hard enough.

However, I have not the time nor energy to do such things. And so the image remains in black and white, even where color should be abundant.