Limping, struggling his way forward, his mind is numb, has no presence to it. Present only is an outward forward motion.
For years his body has known war, and thus within his mind clarity existed when engaging, and conflict when in short periods of supposed rest. Now that the war is over, the mental and physical have entered a reversal of shocks acting in opposition as he moves toward something, anything.
As final battle’s dust fades forever, his stumbling feet eventually encounter softer grass, fewer rocks. And in this increasing change, a particular desire threatens the numbness of his mind.
Water. He wants it, needs it.
This thirst amplifies his physical pain, reminds him of the wounds of his past, inflicted upon his body repeatedly, incessantly. He eventually succumbs to this pain, ceases his slow and forward motion, and falls onto the soft grass. Stares into the sky above, dreams.
Present rest outweighs his desire for water. It can wait, must wait, as he lies motionless upon soft blades of relief. Above him the sky provides a gentle breeze, a clear vision of what has come, what is to come.
His dream is a blend of night and day. Butterflies flutter above. There is a certain chaos in their swirling, the rapid movement of their wings. Repeatedly, incessantly, they hover above, creating in him a new desire. This chaotic order of butterflies manifests a longing for what they have, how they exist.
But swiftly his vision reveals he’s already lived this desire. Thirst quenched, he dies on a soft bed, under a welcoming sky.