The war came to an end with a realization. A realization of the futility of the cause that was being fought for. As the dust separated the dead from the wounded, sunlight streaked across the horizon. The smell of war wafted through the battlefield. A lone figure stood at the edge of the river. Broken, bruised and battered. The dirty blood mixed water ran through, lapping at his feet. A lone tear traced its way down his cheek and fell in slow motion. Plop, it landed, mixing with the dirty blood water lapping at his feet. The war had ended. His realization was complete. Heaven beckoned.