1. Don't panick! (Alright let's be real you're already panicking)

2. It hurts a ton, but don't rub your eye. (which by now you're pressing your palm into your eye, but try not to rub at least)

3. This line is blurry, and your vision is blacking out in the other eye as your entire head throbs at random intervals, you might also experience some vertigo here. A.K.A. DON'T USE THE STAIRS. Trust me, the ground is already wobbly don't make it worse.

4. This is a good time to call out to anyone that may be nearby "I'm blind!" or "Ahhhhh!"

5. Flush your eye with water at least ten minutes (or until you can open it again).

6. Throw away that cursed bottle of hydrochloric acid.

7. Lastly, DON'T put hydrochloric acid in your eye! Read labels, they save lives.

she’s standing still

and it seems to him

that she’s never looked quite so small

and so large at the same time

with her back to him

and her golden hair in tangles

her fingers covered in blood

trembling

from the sacrifices she made

to win the war

it is suddenly so clear to him

how she is just a girl

who has a scar in place of a heart

whose innocence was stolen away

and he wants to comfort her

protect her from herself

but he knows she won’t allow it

that she’ll flinch away from his words

his touch

and he knows

just as he should protect this girl from herself

he needs to guard his heart against her

because her fingers are covered in blood

trembling

from the weight of what she’s done

and he is just a boy

incapable of fixing her

because she is more than just a girl

she is a colossal force

a great storm

that leaves wreckage and sunshine in her wake

with fingers covered in blood

trembling

There are stories here, stained into this weathered rock,

Stories of the past lay all around you,

Lives of people remembered as nothing more than a red stain dried up long ago.

There’s pain here, marred straight into stone,

Blasts tore this land to screaming shards.

Perhaps one day a bullet will be found and claimed as a fossil,

The same goes for the bodies of these lost souls.

Shame, isn’t it?

All this death, scarring the land for years to come.

This once breathtaking field, marked forever by the stench of death.

See this mark, this petty stain over here?

That boy was nineteen, his brains lie somewhere over there.

A hero, they called him, for taking out thirtysix people with one toss of a grenade.

And over here, a caring nurse was felled.

Forty-one years young, she took a blade through the heart, her blood still spatters this spot.

A traitor, they called her, for daring to help a twelve year old child who had been labelled as the ‘enemy’.

Villains, they called us,

Every life who fought for their lives on this field,

So many souls never made it home.

A massacre, they called it, for the death of so many.

A tragedy, they called it, when they forced thousands to flee and die along harsh roads.

A thing of the past, they called it, as they built a bypass atop the sacred land.

Villains, we called them, for the desecration of everything we held dear.

Villains, we called them, once we were again forced to leave.

Villains, we called them, after even our pride was stripped away.