Liza thought about the war as she laid on the cold concrete floor of her room. Her long silver hair formed a spiral around her. All the years of fighting for a revolution had finally paid off. But at what cost? She looked at the small pendant in her hand and then gazed at the drawings on the walls. They were a painful reminder of what could have been if times were better. Her empty house echoed in silent laughter, lost warmth and frozen memories. She had lost her friends, neighbors and comrades during the revolution. 

She groaned in pain and heartache. As she gathered strength to stand on her feet, her eyes caught a framed photo on the table. A bright smiling face of a little girl stared back at her. She walked towards it and held it close. She cradled the photo like a baby, trying to feel her but she couldn't. She was too numb to feel anything. There were no tears in her eyes. She couldn't cry anymore. 

No. She couldn't live anymore.

Living in her house was a nightmare. She thought as she mindlessly doused it with petrol. She stood in front of it, giving it one last look. As she lit a match, the memories flooded her mind, as if they were trying to stop her. But it was too late. Her grief was too strong. She watched her once beautiful and lovely house crash and burn into ashes.

The dandelion field was the favorite place she and her daughter would go. Relaxing, enjoying the cool breeze, spying on their neighbors and laughing at their jokes. Now, it was just a quiet place filled with memories of war, blood and death. In one hand was the pendant she had found on her daughter's dead body and in the other was a silver gun that was gifted to her by her closest friend. They would accompany her to her death. She hoped that there was an afterlife. She wanted to see them again.

She closed her eyes as she pointed the gun to her head. Her daughter’s face flashed in her mind as she let out one last breath. 

The quiet place was momentarily disturbed by a bang. She fell on the ground with a bloody head. Her mind had just seven seconds to replay her memories.

One last time.