What's more to say about the sky that hasn't already been said a million-times over? It was a pleasant aquamarine blue, with a light accenting of clouds, spread out nice and evenly across the sky. The career master sergeant had been decked out flat on the dirty road, amongst a thick layer of rubble and brick, near the front of a large plaza structure. He had been stitched left to right, across the stomach, by an hidden medium machine-gun position.
It was so quiet that the ringing in his ears could just barely penetrate, but none of the sounds from the outside made it to his head. He didn't hear the gunfire or explosions. They weren't important to him anymore. He didn't hear another of his fellow soldiers' as he fired a rocket into the nest of enemy aggressors that had cut him down; the building's lobby exploded and collapsed in on itself from across the street. He heard nothing of it.
All the man heard and saw was a story being told by a tall, hooded figure with a scythe. It was his tool, like the man's rifle had been moments before. It was something the figure obviously used with a high level of proficiency. The figure did not fail with it. The story was about the rest of the man's life, as it would have been had he not been on that his unit's run through the city. It was also the story of his family and how they would be well taken care of while he was gone.
The man was shown images of his wife, years after the burial. The very beautiful woman is in her wedding dress, sitting before the mirror, just as she had years before with the him; only, this time, she would marry another man. There were tears brimming in her eyes, in remembrance of her late and first husband, but there was also happiness. Happiness that told the man that his wife had found another that made her happy and treated her very well. Just as her late husband would've wanted for her.
The daydream immediately swirled into another, revealing his eldest daughter, dancing around in her room at the prospect of there being a boy in her life for the first time. She would want to talk to all her little girlfriends about it, and even her mother. Of course, nobody could replace her father, but she would tell her step-father about it. She would be very nervous come the first date. There was nothing like the experience.
It swirled again, revealing that his wife and new husband had conceived a child of their own. Discovering that it was a little girl for the family. The love of his life was elated at the prospect of another little bundle of joy coming into her world; having thoroughly enjoyed raising the first two of her children, and now she was going to have another daughter. Passing the news to the son and daughter, they were also extremely happy to hear about it, as well.
The dying man was cleared of the visions for a moment, the aquamarine sky coming back into his focus. The war-fighter blinked, noticing something odd etched in the sky in front of his eyes. It was his son. He was only five-years old. But, it showed him standing at attention in front of him at the age of eighteen-years, in a military uniform, saluting his dying father. He dropped his arm respectfully and spun around on heel, walking away and disappearing into that blue sky.
The man felt a tear run down his grimy cheek, a smile spread on his lips as he mustered enough energy to salute one last time before the hooded figure stood before him again, raising his bony hand and urging him forward. The man grinned a bit wider. He nodded as the pitch dark started setting in, dimming the bright blue sky and puffy white clouds that were above him. He understood what the Reaper had done for him.
Death had whispered the man a lullaby.