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A cold breeze dusted the ground as I lay motionless. The smell of iron and dirt fill my nostrils as a shiver runs through my body. Silence fills the air except the sound of my own voice in my head. Blood seeped from my armor onto the ground creating a small pool next to me, accompanied by the slight drip coming from the corner of my dry mouth. As I lay dying on the battlefield my mind begins racing. Attempting to recap the decisions I had made. What had it all been for? Every corpse on the battlefield had a unique story paired with it. A life, a family, moments that only few experienced along with it, but in the end, all ended with the same final chapter. Slaves to a mission, chained to a purpose, whether they knew it or not. All of them forced by the hands of fate to partake in a primal fight for their lives. I began to recall the path that led me to this same struggle, a naive young man, looking to leave the empty, desolate farming town I called home. I was swept up into the vast exciting idea of adventure. The enticing opportunity to go serve a purpose. To do more than just work in humid air of the crop fields every afternoon, next to the same jaded elders that had made me want to leave the town. But little did I know that they were far wiser than their ragged appearance led me to believe. I have seen the horrors of war but had been lucky enough to avoid battle up until this point. Only travelling through the gruesome aftermath of the work my compatriots had left behind days prior. The smell of decay and burning brush stained my memory. The sight of bodies stacked in town squares next to blackened water troughs. By the time I had experienced these scenes it was too late for me to turn back, I was obligated by contract. I had penned my name onto paper and gave an oath that I would fight for the kingdom. This was the life I asked for, but not the life I expected. Unlucky for me at this time to begin to realize that I had made a mistake. That I was never meant for war. Life had never tested me as it had the past few weeks. I never had the knowledge I needed to understand whether I would succeed or falter in the face of death. But now I know that I was stronger in more ways than I had previously believed. After seeing the destruction and death the pestilence of war brought upon innocent people, I knew I only had one option. I could not bring myself to kill another man after seeing what this war was truly about but, I could save lives. I could ensure that no one around me was hurt or injured on my behalf. While I could not run from the legion, due to the desertion decree, I could make an impact on the battlefield, however small it may be. As I lay motionless on the ground, dying of blood loss, my own sword piercing my chest, I realize that I do have courage. Courage is the ability to do what you believe is right, even when you know the task is almost insurmountable. I can only hope that I was right in the end. My thoughts begin to become fuzzy and black. My breath shortens and my muscles begin to relax. As the final drop of blood drips from the corner of my mouth onto the battlefield, I think to myself, at least I lived free, safe from the slavery of battle. -BarretSiphon | |