by Johanna Taylor

Created on: May 17, 2008

A soldier stood silhouetted in the moonlight.
He wearily placed the flag of his victory on a pile of rubble that had been the center of town.
He gazed over the place that had been a city only this morning, ruined by the machine guns and tanks of his army.
Now, the cloud of death had settled over the town.
Breathing in the crisp night air, there was a murmur of officers talking in low voices, counting the many casualties of the day.
Blood and gunpowder mingled in the air:
they were the smell of his victory.

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