• The cloud covered sky had just begun to let go of the water it held when a shot rang out through the bleak afternoon. A cry was heard as a man fell into the street, between two jersey barriers. Blood poured from the wound in his shoulder, but he struggled to pull himself up. He heaved himself into a sitting position and picked up a package he'd been carrying.

    Inside the package was a symbol. Of hope and the future. He had to deliver it. He crawled on his hands and knees, wincing slightly from the pain in his shoulder. He came out from behind the barrier, and felt the stinging shock of a bullet hit his thigh. He collapsed again, weeping as the package slipped from his weakened hand.

    But before the last ounce of strength left his body, he once more gripped the package, this parcel of incredible importance, and he hurled it at the sidewalk, where thirteen other men huddled together behind a makeshift brick wall. One reached out and grabbed the package out of the air as one more shot rang through the pitter-patter of falling rain.

    The deliverer fell dead in the street, his final work for his country finished. He let Deaths hand take him from this world of pain into the blissful silence and joy of the dead.

    From a building one kilometer away, the sniper looked to the brick wall, hoping to see what was so important. He watched in silence as a flag, a red and black flag, slowly rose into the air, symbolizing the country's complete defiance, their determination. Their willingness to die for the things they loved. Their families, their friends, and their homes.

    With his head lowered, the sniper said a quick prayer for the ending of the war. He no longer wised to kill these men. Men so much like himself. He put down his rifle, and looked up into the sky, just as the rain stopped falling.