A Three Page Short Story - Earlier there had been one man, the straw headed man, whose eyes so sorely weeping, turned his head and was looking at them, the body which had laid on the roadside. Throwing his body towards the fields like a crazed man as his life source slowly drained out of his body. It was the fortieth week of working day and night in the monastery’s sward, and the hardened ground nearly equated the hardened stares of those that worked it, the copper blood still fresh by the roadside, seeping black when it congealed on top of  the body of the Earth. This was the price of war.