Francis

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ Bullets fly across the stony, hot rubble of no mans land. Your eyes were burning, stinging with the stuffy air. You were in a sort of startled shock, all you could do was spin slowly, taking in the absolute horrors in front of you. You watch a soldier scream out as his eyelashes catch on fire, jumping back in pain. Your friends running, their mouths open in a mix between a war cry and screams of terror, those haunting white eyes against the smear of the land. You clutched your rifle to your chest, taking small steps forewards, not really aware of where you were. Your senses dimmed, just in a state of shock. The enemies were getting closer, the same terror in your own eyes reflected in theirs. Suddenly a hand caught your elbow, dragging you into a ditch, out of the way of bullets. It was Francis, the spoilt, know it all who had it out for you since day one. You hated each other, and now, he seems like all you have.