"Her empty stare scanned the dressed up lumps on the ground; a pale canvas with random blotches of different shades splattered in, a Grey tint complemented his lost yet wishful eyes. She sat at the base of a tree with shaky fingers and worn out lungs when the burning remnants of a rookie she'd just admitted in the squad fell at his feet still wearing a half broken smile. She rested her chin on the side of the rifle and let out a quick prayer.
The numbing deafness of artillery strikes, gunshots and profanities felt good, even if just for a strange moment... it felt comforting."
-Bryan Archilla (collaborating with texts at the moment with me)
Picture taken and edited by me.
DO NOT USE WITHOUT MY AUTHORIZATION
Friday, June 29, 2012
Lost, yet wishful eyes.