War Scene

I've been writing a book, this is an extract from it:

Red thunder flashed acrss the tear filled eyes of innocent children, as the black sky looked down upon the dry land with gloom. Dead trees slept quietly on the blackned surface.
The clouds were angry, making their anger known through terriffic bolts of white lightning, perhaps the only thing that was not red, blood red. Buildings were missing their bricks, trees their branches and men their limbs. Women were asking for protection, men for mercy and children for food. Bodies were hugging the ground, some lifeless, some filled with terror. Small children lay dead on the blood red ground. Their innocent thinking could not understand, understand the hatred, the corruption, and death itself. Chaos had come to stay. Terror had come to stay. Death had come to stay. Families were being torn apart. People were being massacred at the rate at which ants are born. The very earth was being destroyed, along with everything it carried.

A tired sun slowly emerged from behind the black mountains, as if hiding, hiding in terror, It's rays could not penetrate the darkness, behind which raped women lay naked on the streets. Behind which men were bening tortured, children were being sold as slaves. Pregenant women were being beaten up, their honour stolen, in front of their helpless husbands.
People who tried to flee this nightmare were killed...they were trapped.
Fountains of blood began flowing from within the very earth. It was the only thing that resembled water, as people had nothing to drink, to eat, to wear. The only option was contaminated water, which resulted in death, slow, painful, agonizing death.

The fires stopped, but the smoke still arose. The screaming finished, but the silence became deadly, the bullets stopped but their results lay before them. This beautiful valley had become but a solem memory of itself.

I dared not move, I dared not think, I dared not breath. I did not even have the courage to open my eyes, as I knew only to well what they would tell me. I knew that I would see only the things that hundreds of kashmiries saw, hear only the things that thousands of Kashmiries heard, dread only the things that millions of Kashmiries dreaded, as I myself, amd a Kashmiri.
Everyday my parents and I had huddled close togather, listening to the screamings of helpless terror of our neighbours.
Everynight I would wonder alone searching for something. Perhaps food, perhaps shelter...or perhaps death. My tears had become dry.
I would see the awe inspiring scenery of the valley of kashmir. The lush green mountains, the sparkling water, the clear blue sky, the twinkling stars, they all gave me hope. Even they were not spared. The greenery had been burnt, the water had turned into poison, the sky had been painted red and the stars had run away. This whole valley had become but a mockery of God's creation.