The Weight of Living

He lay at the bottom of a trench, his legs spaced as if mid run and his head thrown back. The boy was still and silent, his features relaxed and peaceful; if someone were to look at his face and nothing else, it would have been possible to mistake his stillness for slumber. Allowing the gaze to roam, many unsettling things would catch the eye. First and foremost, a small circle of red slowly crept out from under his ear, staining the snow around him. From there it might occur to the onlooker that he was too still, and careful scrutiny of his ribs would confirm the suspicion that no breath fueled a steady rise and fall.

Far above him the final moments before his plunge were readily detected. The snow was disturbed and there were claw marks gouged into the icy lip of the trench - proof that he had fought to live and failed. Death had come quickly. Life had fled the moment he'd reached the bottom. There hadn't been time to consider those he was leaving behind or time to fear for his life. The fall had led straight into darkness and in the blink of an eye, Shtiya was gone.