The death of Alberich SchwartzThe dead walked forwards. Like every day, the spirits slowly crept across the mud and through the gaps in groups of huddled men, men who may have once known them as a friend. Pained whispers, regretful murmurs, all falling onto death ears - no one can hear them, no one but Alberich Schwartz. He could hear them, see them as they were; a dull haze, a half forgotten mist, the shell of what was once a man’s soul - forced to roam until they were at peace, but after the horrors their dying eyes had seen they would never know that rest. The British, the Germans, all wondering together steadily; they didn’t care about the war, not anymore, they were blind to the slaughter they were leaving behind - for the slaughter had already blinded them, and thousands of others.The death of Alberich Schwartz by ImOnlyLittle
The young soldier stared, he’d known the supernatural for a long time, but still he was terrified by so much murder - so much pain - pain he knew that he would one day endure in this horrid war. That day was today
Um hi. Welcome to my page, I guess. Thank you for taking an interest in my art.
My name is Little, although you can call me Effie if you wish - it is on the page afterall. Please don't feel scared to speak to me, for I am a big nerd who stays indoors all day.