October 3, 2007
Aiden Rohde War Photograph
His eyes were dark, and cold. Stone cold. Hidden, as they had been for these long months, beneath half sphere of cloth and metal which now sat useless on his unprotesting neck. Before, the helmet had helped. Before, it had been a shield between him and the terror. The terror of war. It had been a veil separating him from the rest; a clock, counting away the time before he could lift the darkness from his eyes and return to the world of light and life. But now, the shield was shattered, the veil rent, and the clocked stopped seconds too early. War had found a way through. It had come with the spit and hiss of hot metal on flesh. And now the darkness of his shattered shield would cover the light in his eyes forever, in an unmarked grave, with his helmet on, and a thin smile which shall last into eternity.