I live in some house, some place, somewhere. My house stands an old, worn brown; surrounded by vibrant, fresh green fields and a variety of rainbow-colored florets. I peer out my window to the vast emerald hills afar, and I spot multiple crowds of men marching near – blue men.
Blue men with blue hats, blue shoes, blue pants; some hold blue flags, some ride blue horses. They march on. The hills now repainted blue. I think of an ocean.
The blue men march near, and I notice their unique features. Their faces resemble masks – conjuring and giving away no emotion. Their skin never allows a wrinkle to creep into its smooth texture – like elastic. The blue men stand the same height. They march in perfect union; their heartbeats one. They’re smooth and perfected. I think of plastic figurines.
One would predict that you would pick up noise of many from thousands of marching feet, but I don’t. All I catch onto is a faint thump, thump, thump…
Thump.
The noise comes from behind me.
Thump.
It’s an alarm, a warning of an unavoidable, predicted tragedy soon to unfold.
THUMP.
I turn. I face a mirror. I watch the exact same sight I admired not too long ago. Blue men march down green hills. Blue men with blue hats, blue shoes, blue pants; some hold blue flags, some ride blue horses. Blue approaches from opposite directions. Blue encloses me. I think of Moses and the parted sea.
The original crowds of blue men languidly pass by the window as if in no hurry or strain.
  “Scat. Run away from here. You do not need to witness the event about to occur. As far as you can go, go and hurry,” a blue man orders. I just stare at him in awe. The way his shapeless, blue lips pronounced each syllable; how his face resembles a smooth blue plaster. He and all the other blue men are magnificent pieces of artwork – each feature painstakingly sculpted, slowly, to perfection. He fades away into the ocean of blue.
The blue men armies stand in front of one another. Blue men with blue guns, blue swords, blue spears; some hold flags, some ride blue horses. The blue men look at each other – examine one another. Same emotions, same hearts, same blue, yet they’re enemies? Enemies who have long forgotten their dreams, who fight for a cause they have lost interest in – for a cause they despise.
Blue men have burned with anger, filled with various pains, torn by mounted grief. Blue men have been pushed out of the realm of human – of emotion, due to cruel, inhumane treatment! Sorrow, grief, pain have been thrust upon then with no reason except stupidity! War picks and plays with them, toying around with them just for its own amusement! And all in the end, blue men are degraded to emotionless, passive robots that just function by commands – that have been dyed the color of war!
I watch as the blue men initiate action. Blue clashes with blue. Swords slice. Spears puncture. Shouts bellow. Cries shriek!
Red.
Red splatters everywhere.
It spreads, contaminates – like a disease. Its stench fills the air.
The last blue man dies. There is no victor.
Red fills my senses. All that remains - all that I behold - is red. Red taints the emerald, green hills. My house isn’t an old brown anymore, nor even stands. An ugly auburn it is, crumpled to the ground. I glance up. Red replaces the light blue once in the sky. The sun too is red, as if on fire. I glance down and around and I see men – red men.
Red men with red hats, red shoes, red pants; all are dead.
I catch a glimpse and stare. One blue flag stands. Red reaches, grasping half-way up its pole. The flag wills not to fall – to give up. One blue flag.
I think of hope.
I think of peace.