A Warriors DeathA Story by David R GonzalezThe last vision after a life of battle.Looking over the dismal battlefield I see no armies, no antithetical forces fighting for personal dogma, no honor. Too late was my sword drawn to sound of the clashing steel in the distance, my feet sluggish with the weight of my armor. For what purpose was I clad with un-fortuitous metal. I heard my enemies battle cry and my hands thirsted for blood, my heart raced aware of its own mortality, yet, my mind was silent. I look over this dismal battlefield and my heart is now numb, my mind, aflame with questions. Why did I run, I did not know who they fought, why was I eager for my own dismay? What caused the outraged cry from my enemies, what force overtook their mind? Who else has reason to fight these battles? Who is the enemy of my enemy? For whose theory do they fight? Why do I still stand with my sword clenched? I set my eyes over this dismal battlefield and can see no colors, all the corpses pale beneath the red stained armor. Everyone belonging to the nation of death as they lay on the ground, their concepts of life all the same. From the moment I chose to grasp my sword I had accepted my fate, I will one day lay with the creatures that crawl. Have my enemies chosen the same path, have they accepted their fate? I mourn over this dismal battlefield, the putrid smell of combat lingering in the air. It fills my nostrils causing a fire in the pit of my stomach. I can see no enemies here, all who lay agree with nothing, their stance now neutral and free from the sway of untenanted words. I have been the reason for the sanguineous drippings that pool the ground. But, now I see, all are the same in the pathetic end, no glory behind my words, no reason to stand at my side. My army falls at the sound of my lips. I kneel on the dismal battlefield, my sword loose from my grip, my body no longer willing. For what freedom do I fight, what is the unjust nature that rises against me? My breath is hollow, my limbs grow numb. What words can I say to turn them who have pledged their life to death? The fire within me grows weak, I feel the still air growing frigid. Will I see those who have fought beside me? My sight grows blind to my purpose. Will I see those who were resolved by my words? My surroundings become scarlet as my mind begins to quiet. Will those who fell under the spell of my lips remain resolute? My hope no longer beckons me. My hands grasp the dismal battlefield, the mire seeping in between finger. © 2017 David R GonzalezAuthor's Note
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Added on February 13, 2017Last Updated on February 13, 2017 Tags: Battle, Warrior, Short story, Death AuthorDavid R GonzalezGainesville, FLAboutI am an amateur writer who has always had a dream to publish a novel. Having recently graduated with my doctorate has given me some free time to pursue this as a hobby. I am using this website to get .. more..Writing
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