The cringing form.
The venom that flies out of the mouths who know nothing, but pretend to know something.
The whispers of screams from the mouths of friends, the shrieks of death and destruction that tear through the fabric of reality.
And the children that mock them for something that they don't understand.
The pain that drags his face into a look of desperation--he needs someone to believe in what he is saying.

But the naiivete of the next generation is like honey--thick, sweet, cloying, and turning away all of the truth that came stumbling out of the soldiers mouth,
shell-shocked
and full of wisdom.
The golden flakes fall through the air and fade into the floor
useless
and broken.