Pan over the library, which is a pile of rubble. Ash and dust swirl through the air. Cut to the main part of Northampton. The town is deserted, save a lone scarecrow figure emerging from the ruins of a bar. The neon sign has gone out, but you can make out T E OR BLE R VE LAT O on a scrap of paper stuck to a shard of glass. The figure raises his head. In his right hand, he clutches a pen and notepad. He begins to speak in a tortured voice:
The soldier walks, of steel and reddened skin
A broken soul, a product of the war
The land destroyed, its promise wearing thin
Survivors cracked and wounded to the core.
The ash of tomes drifts quiet through the air
A remnant of destruction, scorched and grim
The soldier's gaze, a blank and deadened stare
The light that once emboldened her grown dim.
But wait! A sound, a movement in the books
A shaken visage, framed by crimson hairs
The soldier turns, she finds, she sees, she looks
Beholds the face of one for whom she cares.
The suns ignite within the soldier's eyes
Her friend returned, restoring broken ties.
Cut back to the thin figure, standing in the remains of the bar. His face is turned toward the sun, which is breaking through the clouds. You can see a glimmer of hope on his face. Bittersweet music plays in the background, slowly fading along with the screen to nothing.
Cut.