http://iwl.me/b/ce65a7ad

Interesting, I have to say, as Margaret Mitchell (should you know who she is,) is the author of Gone with the Wind, (Frankly My dear, I don't give a damn.)

Here's what I wrote, and quite frankly, I don't like it. It's cliche, it's confusing and as far as anyone else knows, it's way stereotyped.







"We won't make it." she said, peering over the battlements, two armies waging their war across the what otherwise would have been a bright and peaceful field, marred by the mud of the rain, and the blood of the fallen. So much was the bloodshed here, that even the sun seemed to bleed, crimson marking itself across the sky, a hue of unnatural proportions.
The small group huddled together, each looking at one another, as if an answer to their plight would be pulled from each others tired and worn gazes, eyes seeming to be as if tired, very tired, their bodies had gone for days without rest, carrying each other, to speed up their journey, to put the madness the war had became to an end. Armor dented, hair dirty, weapons worn, they hadn't stopped for anything, save for minute moments when they had to eat, or a pause had occurred in the lull of the creaking metal, and screams of the fallen.
"We have to make it." Everyone's eyes shifted straight forward towards the one that had led them here, the one that brought them together. "We've made it so far," he muttered, fatigue, showing itself even in his words. Harsher, yet with the same tone that had brought them together. "You all know as well as I do, that we all have a duty, a dream to end this gods-forsaken war and to restore peace to the nation." a tired and rather wheezy cough punctuated the end of his statement, as he too wearily stood up from his position to peer over at the chaos. "If we do not, then this..." he made a sharp gesture with his hand, waving towards the field. "... is our future." he crouched down again, resting his back against the timber, looking down at his feet before gazing back at his comrades, friends. "I'm weary of war, the stench of blood, and the sound of screaming." his lips' corners tilted. "Should we fail, then I have failed you all."