I walked on the field dragging myself, pulling my heavy body. My armour clanked and clenched stiffly as I took my steps. The beautiful slender sword in my sheath was covered with dried and coagulated blood. I had been lucky. More than a couple of times. Being lucky in the battlefield meant living. It meant that I got the chance to continue my existence. A sword plunged in your soft gelatine flesh and in some time, you would cease to exist. Life is. It is. Ironic. In a beautiful way. But also in a terrible way. Death supplements life. And death is the ultimate destination. Life's only a journey. It is only a journey. My knees buckled, and I was on the ground. The blossom of the white flowers was truly a sight to behold. Its beautiful petals swayed in the almost divine-like wind. The sweet smell. The sight. The feelings in the temple of my heart like sea waves crashing on the shore. Sometimes when you fight and when you keep on fighting, everything starts losing sense. You began to question. You began to wonder. I picked up the white flower. Its beauty mesmerised me. It was a symbol for so many things. Why was it a symbol and so symbolic? What does it represent? Now that I have picked up this white flower and appreciated its beauty, I could not help but realise that I initiated a chain of events. The events of this thing of immense beauty withering away. My eyes fell on the weeds near these flowers. No one picked them up. No lover would give these to their love. No king or queen would be presented this. These flowers wither, but the weed seldom does. As the seasons change, the flowers will fade away and return next spring. But the weed will always be there. Thinking this, I got up. I felt a spark in the fire pit of my mind. The truth. The essence. About Life. It was all there. Teasing us in many forms and manifestations. I have been enlightened. I have seen the path. I have seen my reflection. I have seen myself. And without further ado, I set off to the loving abode of my family.