The soldier stood in the deserted street, his heart beating far faster than it should, his mind racing. The sky was a blank peach, dust sweeping across the bare street, all belongings stolen. The soldier collapsed onto the cold concrete pavement, his eyes wet and sore from crying, his heart not able to cope with what he had done. He had killed a man, not just one. It the stupid attempt to fight for his country, he had forgotten the importance of human life. What was the use in fighting?
The soldier took his hands away from his face, and let his tears stroll down his cheeks. As he winced his eyes to hold in his tears, he heard the pit-pater of paws walk down the road. He looked up, and saw a black dog, its lead still attached, which strolled up to him, tail wagging, tongue beating in a convulsive motion to the rate of his breaths. He stroked the dog, and realised that the most important Christmas present ever was company.