Enemy

My first attempt at an allegory that still has a literal meaning that could be seen.

            Today was a day just like any other. I got up at dawn, started up the furnace, and got to work. A man came in around noon, a rather strong looking fellow. He had red hair, blue eyes, skin as pale as the moon, and he wore rather extravagant clothes. He walked up to me and asked, “Could you make me a sword?”

            Of course, I said “Yes,” and demanded payment for it up front, considering it was obvious that he could afford it.

            “Well, you see. I can’t pay you. But I can offer you this. There’s a village to the east that is planning on attacking our fair town of Unstes, unless I stop them before they’re prepared. If you make this sword, free of charge, I will tell everyone that it was you who made the sword that saved the town. So what do you say?” he explained.

            I took a minute to think about it. Of course I had always wanted to be known across the land for my work. “What the hell. Yeah, I’ll make it. It’ll be ready tomorrow.” He thanked me, gave me his specifications, and went on his way.

            I got to work right away on the sword. I felt so good forging it. I would be a hero! Me, a hero! Oh, Russel, that jackass, would be so jealous! I worked on the sword long into the night, making it as perfect as I could. The blade that saved Unstes would have to look nice or else I’d die every time I saw it on display.

            That night I hardly slept a wink, I was just so anxious. Day came and so did the man and what a great man he was, saving the city like this. We exchanged several words and I gave him the blade. He thanked me and went on his way again. I got back to work, I couldn’t look like I knew that I’d be a hero. I had to make the first person who saw it think I was surprised.

            A few days passed until the news broke over town. Me and good old Richard were heroes! Everyone wanted something forged from me. The town even got together and threw a festival for us. Just for us! Every time I went to the tavern, I’d get free drinks. I loved this. I spent years trying to get famous for my work and then all of a sudden, boom, Richard shows up and I’m a legend.

            I was living the life. Then one day, a strange old man came to me and said “You know that village that you “saved us from” was completely defenseless, right? Richard played you and everybody else like a fool.”

            “What the hell are you talking about?!” I yelled, back at him. He was obviously lying, trying to steal our fame. Yes, that was it. This man was jealous.

            “Just ask him!” he said and then left as quickly as he came.

            Later that night I asked around at the tavern about the old man and everyone told me that he was just crazy. He was always reading books and yelling about some grievance from lord Dunz. He even once spoke out against God. He was surely insane! Anyone who took him seriously was immediately ignored like he was. People don’t just do that. There has to be a reason for it. Yes, he must be mad! But still, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was something that I was missing.

            So the next day, I went to see Richard. He was in high spirits as he’d been since his ordeal. We talked for a minute and I asked him about his heroic deeds. He confirmed everything the old man had said.

            “But how could you?!” I asked, in disbelief.

            “So I created a monster. You got what you wanted, didn’t you?” he said in a matter of fact tone.

            “I didn’t want it like this!” I yelled, as I stormed out of his, now finely decorated, house.

I took a walk to where the village had been. It was rather tiny and completely ransacked. A few bodies still lie out in the open and a few freshly dug tombs were spread about. Tears began to stream down my face. I never cried once before in my life, but this, this was too much. “See what you’ve done!” yelled the old man. He was digging another tomb. “All they ever wanted was peace!” he yelled again.

“I’m sorry…” was all I could bring myself to say.  I couldn’t take it. I had to leave. I took off running back to town.

“You can’t escape this!” the old man yelled.

All I could see were the people from the village, begging for mercy. By the time I made it home, I had been able to dry my eyes. I’m glad, I would’ve died if anyone had seen me crying. I tried to sleep but my mind was racing. Last words of the fallen were swarming through my mind as though it were a hive. I can’t handle this guilt!

I fired up the furnace, one last time. The same thing that began this will end it. The blaze seemed to dance like the people at the festival that had been thrown for us “heroes”. Enemy, not a word crueler exists. So many lives have been lost, simply because that’s what they were labeled.

Author's Note

I wrote this on 7/9/08 it's fairly old...be gentle.