The Final Silence

He breathed in. And out. And in. And out. Bright red spilled from his side steadily. He looked down at it briefly and then shut his eyes, wishing it was not his. The battle continued around him: swords clanged above his head. Being left for dead was not as bad as it seemed. Every thing seemed amplified and slowed. People rushed around him in blurs. The sun warmed each part of his body. Individual sounds could be picked out; the clang of swords, the punctures of arrows. Occasionally there would be a lull, not unlike the awkward silence when everyone suddenly stops talking.

It was quiet to him. He had always wanted to die in silence. He never wanted to die in pain, but that wasn’t up to a soldier. The dream of death due to old age was forgotten long ago when he was left only with the choice of a warrior for a lost cause.

He was weaker now, the breathing more labored. He began thinking. Of times of noise and pleasure. Of times of joy and happiness. Of times of silence and solace. He enjoyed the silent times the most, because many of those were times spent with his beloved. He always treasured silence for that reason.

He closed his eyes, slipping into that final silence.