Cherish.

The bodies rolled as beads of water, staining long trails of  scarlet on the hilltop grass.
Once human, once defined by the life that consumed and controlled their every twitch, every cough, every chuckle.
From the helicopter's window, the genocide looked an awful lot like nature.
Forms tumbling down the hill, falling from the cliff's edge, and disappearing into the cavern. The watcher couldn't hear over the sounds of the helicopter blades, but he knew the sound of the moment.
Silence, save for the dull thud of skin against turf, tossing and tossing,
and then the silence of space and velocity.