Adrien In The Poppy Field [2nd Rewrite]

Adrien In The Poppy Field

The third draft of the climax to "In The Poppy Field". At this point, I am considering abandoning the project as a whole, and taking my favorite scenes, and making them into separate short stories. Anyways, let me know what you think :)

He was lying there. In the place where the birds sing. In the place where the poppies grow. The skies were blue, and bright as ever, the sun was warm and welcoming. The golden light lined each blade of grass, glistening in the fair weather wind. One could have lied there for hours. In the grass, lay the outstretched body of Adrien like a towel left out to dry. His short brown hair was soaked red with the liquid of his death, and his dark shirt was torn and stained. His back was crooked from the fall, and his shoulder barely held grasp to his left arm, limp on the bed of green. His right arm slowly reached over his pounding chest, and he felt with his weary fingers a round metallic shape, embedded in his shoulder. It came out of with ease, and toppled onto the grass. In awful pain, his shoulder beat at the pace of his slowing heart. The open wound poured crimson onto the ground, flooding the grass. The re poppies turned only redder, and the blue sky was overwhelmed with clouds. Rain began to pour, and it camouflaged his tears. His breath was short and choppy, his vision blurred and fading. His body began to turn numb, and he could hardly open his mouth. A small red bird flew overhead. It dove gracefully about, and sang a sad song, that grew louder and louder and echoed in the open field. The bird soared off, and thunder cracked as it fled through the clouds. Fear was shining in his squinting eyes. Adrien felt them closing, the darkness consuming him. He carefully felt the grass with his aching fingers. It was so soft. Adrien choked. His eyelids collapsed, and his pulse slowed to a stop. An hour later, another bird came down. And another. These birds did not sing, and their feathers were long and black. They surrounded his body with a cloud of darkness, and when their job was done, they retreated from the mounting rain. Another hour went by, and Adrien was nothing but a stain of blood, a scrap of flesh, and the meal in the stomach of a well fed murder of crows. Any remains that dared haunt that peaceful place were washed away by the pounding rain. The poppies turned red again, and the rain ceased. The clouds parted, and the sun shone brightly against the midday sky. Birds were singing again in the poppy field. In the place where the dead are hidden.