Ground cracked and broken like glass thrown upon the ground by a hapless child, dirt transformed into mud by the endlessly raining sky and the less endlessly leaking bodies. Trenches dug in the ground running with rivulets of blood and water, carried off and away from the scene of carnage. Picking through the bodies, several emancipated and skinny creatures dressed in rags and mud.

A figure in a torn and dirtied uniform sat upon a small pile of corpses, drinking from a small flask before throwing it away. Approaching this figure, a skinny man nervously skittered forward, keeping his distance. Speaking in a high-pitched voice, the scavenger asked, "E-excuse me, Sir, b-but why are you still here...?"

The dirty soldier looked up, revealing a young, nondescript face with dirty blonde hair, and a still bleeding scar trailing from above the left eye to below his chin. Less than thirty, though the filth and fatigue added age to his face. Tilting his head to one side, putting his chin in his hand, the soldier replied in a bored voice. "Can you tell what army I belong to from my uniform?"

The scavenger nervously eyed the hilt attached to the soldiers' waist, then flicked his vision over the boys' uniform. Shredded to pieces, torn beyond recognition, none of the usual symbols were visible. Only the leather beneath, etched and scratched by a dozen slashes, seemed to be in one piece. "I can't make out any symbol, but surely you know what uniform you were wearing?"

The soldier grinned. "Head trauma is a bit like falling in love; makes you forget who you are, and especially what matters. I couldn't tell you my name if I wanted, much less what army I belonged to. I'll leave figuring out the reason for this battle to tomorrows' me."

The scavenger offered a weak smile, the timidly pointed towards the bodies the soldier sat on. "Would you mind if I...?"

The soldier nodded, and stood up. "It's about time I left, anyway. Can't say I like the smell of rotting bodies and gore, however used to it I've gotten. Still, it's a waste to leave all this food behind."

It was the scavengers' turn to tilt his head. Looking around, he questioned, "What food? All I see is carrion-ah, uh, I'll excuse myself, please forget I was here." The scavenger began to backpedal very quickly, but in a low crouch so as not to alarm the man.

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The soldier smiled again. He seemed the type to be optimistic. "I believe you misunderstand. Though I can't speak for before three days ago, I have yet to partake in the flesh of my fellow man. I was alluding to the bread, cheese, and whiskey the men have in their pockets."

Still backing away, but slower now, the scavenger queried once more. "Why would soldiers have bread in their pockets?"

Shrugging, the soldier began to walk in no particular direction. "As for their reasons, I suspect they had their own. But the fact is, out of four-hundred-thirty-six, thirty-four had bread, twenty-three had cheese in addition, and two-hundred-sixteen had flasks filled with whiskey. As long as you're fine with the bread being moldy and soggy with blood, you could probably feed a village just with the snacks a twentieth of the dead soldiers took with them, and that's just in the fifty meters around me. I can't see ground clear of bodies in any direction I care to look in. The dirt is so full of blood the rain just slides off. Really puts into perspective how many people died here, huh?"

The scavenger didn't answer, finally coming to the somewhat accurate conclusion that the soldier was insane, or a little off, or, as admitted by the individual in question already, knocked in the head. "I see, quite terrible, terrible, but I must say farewell."

The soldier marched towards nowhere, filled with purpose and energy. Not quite straight, as he was drunk, but still heading in the same general direction regardless. "Fare thee well, I have something I need to do."

Catching a drop of blood falling from the scar on his face, the soldier made a fist. "First, I'll find the one who gave me this. Then, I'll figure out who I am. After that...well, I've always wanted to try acting, maybe I'll join a circus? Hehehe..."

The soldier then fell over on his side, and passed out. The scavenger picked his way over to him, rifled through his pockets, then went back to the pile of bodies after finding nothing of value. Shrugging, the skinny old man looked upward into the rain.

"I wish you luck, crazy git. As long as this world doesn't swallow you first."

The gigantic slash across the sky, as if a large swath of cloth had been torn from the heavens leading towards a lightless abyss, was slowly closing. Soon, it would be as if the atmosphere hadn't been ripped in half. But then, the sky didn't always tear itself in two. Only once a month, or on special occasions such as this one. Souls had to go somewhere, after all.

But considering the broken sky is one of the least dangerous features of the world, the soldier would have trouble completing his quest. Or, perhaps the whole world would snap before that.

The cracks are already showing.