Dark times asolated your poor home town, now with it's streets covered in rubbish and with the constant background noise of shots being fired.

Oh, the war and what it brings, —desolation, fear, uncertainity and unnecesary death.

Your small town was a pass-by place for the military and it's soldiers, used to get through to the point where the real war was being battled. But that didn't mean blood of innocent soldiers didn't paint each corner of each street.

Barely a week ago, when the sun was rising on the fresh morning, you had heard a knock on your door. Only to find a doe-eyed, dark haired —and practically movie-star handsome— boy at your doorstep, he was wearing the militar uniform. He had offered you back a sheet that had fallen from where you had put it to dry last night. And then, with a smile and a tip of his green cap, he was back with the rest of soldiers.

Oh, such a same such a young thing —he couldn't be older than 16— was going to waste his youth for something as war. What a waste, the army dreamers like him. Too innocent to be able to outstand such violent enviropments, too young to understand, and too fragile to survive.

Today, you woke up at ungodly hours in the morning thanks to the thundering sound of guns firing back and forth.

You looked out of your window, only to find the boy from the other day hiding in the bushes of your garden. —trembling, wide eyes teary, hands covering his ears and his gun nowhere to be seen.

He was defenseless.

And that's why you risked your life with opening the back door in the middle of the gunfire and urging the scared and lost soldier boy inside.

And that was how you had ended up with a quivering, doe-eyed, and teary soldier boy on your lap. Trembling as the loud sound of shots being fired and soldiers yelling profantities back and forth filled the street. His hands grabbing onto your shirt, wide eyes looking at you like you were a miracle, —as if Mother Mary herself.