Who will have the glory?

Norse invaders

   Atop the stone tower, squinting through the hazy sun, I scan the sea. A slight quiver -  just a hint of a movement, heightens my senses and chills me with fear. Dark specks begin to pop up over the blue water. Wavering silhouettes in front of the golden sunlight rise and spread out along the horizon like a dark sinister wave. Invaders! They are the Norsemen - terrors of the coast. Their longships with striped sails and carved dragon heads deface the sea and sky. Along the sides of their ships painted shields glisten with the colors of war, heralding pain and death.

    

    I climb down the tower and race back to town. Running, shouting, clanging alarm bells; chaotic panic fills the dusty streets outside my home. The pride of our Saxon leader calls us to fight- save our town, save our culture. Preparing mentally for the horrors ahead, I swiftly suit up my armor.  I keep my head carefully down to avoid seeing the fear in my family's eyes. With muffled sobs behind me I stand by the open door and draw in a great breath of courage. Stories will be written and songs will be sung about this day. When the battle is retold through history who will have the glory and who will have death? I swing my mace onto my right shoulder and cross the threshold from peace into war.

     Clashing swords, burning buildings, screaming and fighting; the ground is covered with severed limbs and writhing bodies. There is no time for tactics and speeches. Our soldiers are thrust into chaos, a maelstrom of blood and mayhem. Your family, your land, your culture, these are pushed to the back of your mind. You now fight for your life. A rushing tide of Norsemen, like relentless roaring waves, flood the streets with a surge of madness. Marauders jumping over corpses and wielding axes continue to massacre. My mace swings wildly. Axes slice deeply. Helmets roll through the crimson streets, some with heads still in them. Weary Saxons fall and horses flee. Acrid smoke spreads forth, carrying with it the screams of the dead.

     An axe splits a nearby shield sending shards of debris rattling off my armor. Everything around me is moving faster. My mace seems heavier, my breath shorter. Sweat and smoke sting my eyes but through my clouded vision I see my doom. A sword, alive with the flickering reflection of fire, rises above me. The Norse invader gripping the sword becomes the image of the Reaper himself ascending from Hell to slay me. I grip my mace for a sweeping blow when fire slices through my shoulder and out of my back. Air and blood expel from my mouth and I fall limply to the ground. I lay gasping, bleeding; warriors leap over me, still fighting. Red spray falls from the sky. Before I can reflect on my life, before I can shed a tear for my family, death steals my last gasp and carries it to the eternal abyss. My blood, carrying the spirit of our culture, seeps into the ground, disappearing into oblivion. The stories will tell of the glory for the Norsemen.

Reviews

[Isabelle]

Very powerful and intriguing. The title is a little long but the story itself is really good. You show what is happening precisely and imaginatively. Great job!