A tremor passes through the soil - do not call it earth. The planet dies. Crickets chirp. Crickets survive, for now, among the crashed ships and broken bodies on this crumbling plain. Silver moss devours steel, and violet flowers choke the dead guns. If this planet lasted long enough, the gives that sprout from the corpses' mouths would grow berries.It won't, and neither will they.

The planet dies. Crickets chirp. Crickets survive, for now, among the crashed ships and broken bodies on this crumbling plain. Silver moss devours steel, and violet flowers choke the dead guns. If the planet lasted long enough, the vines that sprout from the corpses' mouths would grow berries. It won't, and neither will they.

- as battle stations wilt like flowers tossed into flame, as radio bands crackle triumph and swiftskimmers swoop after fleeting void tails, as guns speak their last arguments into mute space, she slips away.

They would make this war, she thinks, if there were not a war already made for them to make.