Non-fiction.

She simply stood and breathed in dumbstruck awe.
Before her lay a breathtaking field of pure white cotton.
Cotton that gave birth to black and white doves. Cotton that laughed and sang and was one with the wind. Cotton that gave freely of itself to warm you on chilled October evenings.
It smelled wonderful and fresh like a babe. It smelled sensual and luscious like tingling passion. It smelled...
Like blood.
White beautiful bodies spill over with putrid blood. As
Peaceful doves placidly beat their wings through the motionless air.
This is heaven.
This is hell.
This is a graveyard- an ancient minefield.
The cold bodies once had vivacious souls that danced betwixt the mines. Danced because of their love
Flitting
Inward
Outward
Twirling
Circling...
Circling...

and then

CRASH



and a foot was gone
and an eye was gone

and yet they continue dancing.
continue as body parts are ripped away by shrapnel and lead.

and they spend their existence on the idea of raw love.

She is gapes in reverie.
A small black dove whispers quietly,
"Do you want to dance?"