Rain

Rain, mud and blood seethed like a hideous poison from the heavens, staining the ground a deep, bitter black. There was crying in the night, and perhaps crying in the day; as neither one nor the other could be distinguished in the everlasting darkness that had come upon them like a great vengeful wave.

The tide marched to the heavy beat of sword upon flesh. The winds carried whispers of Unforgivables upon their breaths. And in this, death drew his glittering scythe through the misty world of war, cutting away all that was living. We bring unto ourselves this plague of wrath; yet we know not what we do.

Light, hurried footsteps grow swift across the scarred plains, barely marking the wet ground beneath. Quick, hasty breaths tore through the fragile body of a young girl, dressed in a simple white shift, her brilliant red hair flaming across her back. Deep red blood stained the white shift. The blood of her lover, brother, enemies, and friends; she will never forget the terror in the eyes of every single one of them; even those whom she hated. Pity still sobbed like a broken child within her heavy heart. We do not deserve this; yet, humanity is it's own destruction.

Words, whispers, screams in the bloodstained night and blackened day echoed like caged demons in her head. It was all a living hell, all a price to heavy for the resurrection of peace.

It was the only option, they had said; those high wizards, sitting at their round wooden table, the great golden phoenix burning with unearthly fire above them; their ethereal god. A god Ginny did not believe in, a God that had forsaken the lives of man long ago; a God who had not forgiven murder so long ago. Forgive them, father, for they know not what they do.

Ginny didn't know what to do, not really. She had her orders, as a trained medi-witch, to seek out those who were wounded but still alive. But it brought no comfort to see them, to gaze into their haunted eyes that cried of torture, and of mercy long forgotten.

So she ran, across the barren, broken land that had once held hope and all that was clean and pure and living. It was now all waste; vile waste that unceasingly emitted the putrid stench of rot and decay. It was all death, and death was a salvation that begged for descent upon those who were left alive. Call no man happy, until he is dead.

And still she ran, as if there were some destination, some redemption lying beyond this pain and terror. Suddenly, a bloodied hand grabbed her by the ankle, causing her to stumble, and fall to her knees. She turned, looking into the face of the last person she expected to see alive, and barely that.

"Please," he gasped, his voice a wretched contrast to that smooth drawl she remember form long ago; it seemed so far in the past. Dull grey eyes reflected the defeat that was in both of them.

"Please, make it stop."

Slowly, she nodded. It was as if there were no more sides, no more hunter and prey, just simply the last wishes of a tortured soul.

He did not smile as she drew her wand from her dress; her eyes fluttered closed as she pointed the sharp, dark wood to his throat. Resolution and bitter defeat rose thick like vomit in her throat.

Avada Kedavra

Rain fell in heavy drops, as mud, blood and tears swelled among the bodies lying cold in the black earth.