Her hands were held immobile,
Her eyes unseeing,
Yet still tears trickled from her eyes.
She begged them,
Begged for so long and so hard
That soon her voice was only a harsh whisper.
But still she tried so hard,
To get them to hear her.
Maybe we can just go,
She whispered,
Maybe no one has to get hurt,
Maybe this can just end.
Around her were the screams of thousands,
The last breaths of millions,
The agony of so many,
Yet still they continued to struggle,
To fight,
To go on.
Please,
She whispered,
We can just stop.
We can make all of this end.
No,
They told her,
We don't give up.
As millions screamed for mercy,
For an end to pain.
We never give up when there is still hope.
What hope?
She whispered,
Hope left long ago.
All that is left
Is the dying and the dead.
Maybe not,
They tell her.
As they ignore the screams,
The pleas,
The tears.
Maybe not.
YOU ARE READING
Based
Short StoryEvery picture tells a story, And every story paints a picture, So why can I not use a picture to tell a story? I do not own any of these pictures. All works in this book are fiction. (Please let me know if you would like me to tag anyt...
