A Fleeting Moment of Strife

A descriptive paper I wrote for my english class this past school year.

Once the gravel cracked and broke under my feet, now the ground was only bodies and bloody mud. The clinking of my chain mail barely reaches my ears over the sounds of explosions, dragon cries, and the war cries of my enemies. The heavy leather under the chain mail is wet and heavy. The blood of my enemies had congealed on my face, its smell once was sickening to me, but is now like an old acquaintance who I keep running into. My broadsword felt heavy in my hands as I swung it, cleaving into an orc’s bare neck. The orcs ugly gray face screaming at me as my sword slices through its thick flesh. Orcs never wore helmets, I don’t know why. I would have thought that they wanted to hide that ugly mound of flesh they call a face. Though, with all its bumps and disfigurements, I guess it would have been hard to make helmets for all of them. Not like I’m caring, it makes them easier to kill.

My large leather boots stepped upon the dead bodies now completely covering the ground. The night felt hot with all the wizards enchantments from the castle we were storming rained down and caused great craters from fiery explosions. The dragons’ fiery breath burnt the ground as it aimed for the last few soldiers. I was one of the last of my army, once a hundred strong, now only a dozen. Each of us fending of nearly ten times as many orcs as there were us.

We didn’t have wizards nor dragons, all we had were our own human fighters. We vowed our king that we would take this castle before the Dark Queen could attack our castle, but now that seemed like so long ago. I hear a human cry off in the distance to my right, and I know that we have just lost one more soldier. We are on the losing side of this battle, and we had no hope. All we could do now was die like heroes, and hope that we weaken them enough to stop their invasion.

The castle beyond my foes is perfectly intact. Though, it is very dark and foreboding, it is perfect in its darkness. A goal we shall never reach. I taste blood and ash on my tongue, I’m not even sure if the blood is mine or the enemies. I see arrows now, appearing from the tower. I know this is my end. I may have lived like a scoundrel, but I shall die like a hero.