her last days she spends on this chair. away from people. away from fighting, wa…

her last days she spends on this chair. away from people. away from fighting, war, hate. in here own little world, the only ound the bees flitting from flower to flower. the grass rustles in the wind. our fate is sealed as soon as we choose it. her mind jumps around. the time is counting down as the smoke rises.

Source by vanbucker