Melody of November----Part One
(this is what I wrote yesterday. It was an old idea of mine which I never really written down in English before. It's a pain to read with the descriptions, but I felt like it needs to be detailed, since I am using this piece as the intro of our movie which I was planning to submit for the film festival. Give advice! I would love to hear feedbacks, especially negative ones, therefore I can improve!)

The sky above No Man’s Land was usually a grievous and dreary blue. It would constrain you to remember those memories which you hold so dear and close to your heart. It made you continue with you reasons to be here: to protect those who you love dearly, and to fight for dignity and honor.

But the sky today was a naïve blue which made it seemed to blend with the warm, honey colored sunlight. A cotton-candy-like cloud would occasionally drift into the still picture and leave quietly later without disturbing the sedate atmosphere. The carefree wind would bulge in and sing a song with springiness. It all seemed like a tranquil morning, except that something of a more sinister nature was unfolding.

The earth below the celestial paradise was full of smoke of gun powder and mist. The earth shook in rage as it would engulf all creatures that stood upon it. Waves of bullets were showering down with rabidity. The tormenting cries, afflicting pains, and floods of desperation had completely washed out the timid and sentimental part of humanity. The soldiers were fighting brutally yet gallantly. Though no matter what skin color they were given, no matter which side they were fighting for, no matter who their bloody rifles were slaughtering at, the soldiers had one common goal, and that was to live and to end the war, once and for all.

The wind on the battle field was not gentle and subtle. They howled and cut into the soldiers’ every inch of exposing skin like blunt knives. The laughed at the horrid sight of violence and sneered at the raw smell of blood and rotting flesh. They carried and amplified the deafening sound of the artilleries. They danced while watching the black cloaked figure came up and collected the souls of the soldiers. Time ticked as they celebrated and reveled, until No Man’s Land expressed its truest definition.

No Man’s Land had no man. Well, mostly but one.

Elias lay lifelessly on the damp grass. However the dampness had not stuck him as a problem since his camouflaged uniform was soaked with sweat and blood. The ground was indeed an excellent support of his weary body. His left hand lost its grip of the handle of his rifle due to the slipperiness of that piece of busted metal, though he could not care less. His murky eyes were staring at the eternal blue sky which seemed so far out of his reach.

Elias remained his position. All was quiet on the muddy field besides the rustles of the wind. The wind had once again changed its temperament. This time it brushed over the earth mildly with a bleak and desolate manner, like the whispery murmurs of the souls who perished on this land. Elias continued to glance at the beautiful and innocent piece of blue above him. It was so quiet that he could only hear the sound of the passing by wind and the unsteady beat of his heart. Bits and pieces of memory began to flash behind his eyes. By then he knew he was dying. A deep and deathly cut had left its mark right across his lean torso and he was loosing blood at a colossal rate.
He was not afraid of death anymore by this time. The word “death” had left him with nothing but curiosity. However a wave of sadness washed over him as he thought of how his mother would take the news of the death of her only son. He remembered her tying a short piece of red yarn to his wrist in a fancy way when he left home. He remembered her saying that as long as the thread is still connected to him, then she would know that he was safe and was still alive somewhere. He remembered the long sad glares his mother gave him as he left, and when he turned around to look at her one last time. He remembered a sad smile appeared on his mother’s face like a blooming peony, her tears were glistening under the warm golden sunshine of late afternoon. He also remembered he kissed the thread and waved goodbye to his mother as he promised to himself to send the thread back no matter if he was still alive or not. The very thread was now in his shaky hand. He took it off every time before every battle and putted it back on after. However, this time he did not get the chance to put it back on.

The wind past dolefully as it brought up swirls of dust, and among the dust, there was a withered maple leaf twirling along with the slow current of the wind. Remembering his promise, he slowly raised his other hand in the chilling wind and gently captured the leaf. He slowly tied the thread on the stem of the withered leaf with great tenderness, as if he had broken a filament of the leaf, it would shatter his dream. He brought the leaf to his lips and pressed it against his dry lips. A prayer was said before he decided to set it free and let it wonder with the carefree wind.

Elias stopped before he let the leaf go. He turned his head once again toward the sky. A grey feathered eagle flew across the field and howled with loneliness. The sound echoed in the wavering air and trembled. Somewhere behind the clouds, Elias could faintly make out the outline of his mother’s face. It was looking down at him with such love which made him forget the pain he was enduring. The sky suddenly became closer to him and the clouds parted. It started snowing pink petals of flowers all of a sudden. The tender touch of the petal on his face made him smile. He watched them dance as they swirl down slowly around him. Then he heard tunes coming from a distant. They were tunes from his childhood which his mother used to sing to him when he was little. What followed the tunes was the fragrance of the flowers and the homemade sweets. They surrounded him and consoled his homesick soul. After the fragrance came the happiness. The simple and bright happiness which used to fill his heart before the war broke out. He closed his eyes as he felt more petals landed on him softly and were miraculously healing all the wounds and ceasing his pains. His breaths slowed down, and time stopped for him at this very moment.

The lonely wind slowly took the leaf from his hand, not daring to disturb the fallen soul. The withered leaf flied away, carrying Elias’s withered dream with it. It flew higher and higher and slowly disappeared. The sunlight still shines soothingly as before, spreading its light fragments over his lifeless body. The pieces of sunlight reflected into dreamy colors a man could ever imagine, just like pieces of broken dreams, shattered, yet not gone, but sublimed into something beautiful which no man have ever seen.

It snowed, the snowflakes gently landed on Elias’ body. That was the first snow of that winter. Elias never lived to see the whiteness covering the ground, very much simulating the way the snow used to fall on his homeland. Elias also never lived to see the tiny shred of scarlet, carried by the wind, flew higher and higher, and emerged into the warm sunlight which kindles the earth. The wind was singing dolorously in the cool air of November, the melody full of bitterness of war; the melody of November.