Another war completed. Another land conquered. Another ruler dethroned. Another people beaten. But none of that matters now, for I am riding the train back home. I do not see the city around me, or hear the crowds cheering our return. The only sound I hear is the lilting laugh of my wife, tinkling with humor and happiness. All I see is my simple cottage, with the red brick walls and the honeysuckle climbing the cottage side, shadowed by a towering maple, just turning color with the coming of autumn. The only thing I feel in place of pride is the powerful urge to see my home, look into the eyes of my little girl I haven't seen for four years, and finally meet the baby I have never been able to hold. I long to smile with my wife again. To wash away all memory of that far away land and what I did to those people in the name of justice and honor. All I see are the hazel, smiling eyes of my wife and all I smell are the wafts of honeysuckle in the cool autumn air. The rest of the worlds ceases to exist. All but the memory of that cottage under the maple tree and the family waiting for me.

     Then I remember the attack on our city. And the news that my family were dead. And I remember the screams that had ripped from my throat. Then I remembered there was no home to return to, and my heart broke a little more, sending its frozen shards into my throats, where they emerged in the form of a hot tear, burning its way down my cold cheek and into my waiting hand. The train left the city and raced across the surrounding desert, legacy of the war, but my eyes never strayed from the shivering tear drop, for inside it I could still see those hazel eyes and hear the tinkling laugh and smell honey suckle upon the air.