A Warriors Death

The last vision after a life of battle.

Looking over the dismal battlefield I see no armies, no antithetical forces fighting for personal dogma, no honor. Too late was my sword drawn to sound of the clashing steel in the distance, my feet sluggish with the weight of my armor. For what purpose was I clad with un-fortuitous metal. I heard my enemies battle cry and my hands thirsted for blood, my heart raced aware of its own mortality, yet, my mind was silent.

I look over this dismal battlefield and my heart is now numb, my mind, aflame with questions. Why did I run, I did not know who they fought, why was I eager for my own dismay? What caused the outraged cry from my enemies, what force overtook their mind? Who else has reason to fight these battles? Who is the enemy of my enemy? For whose theory do they fight? Why do I still stand with my sword clenched?  

I set my eyes over this dismal battlefield and can see no colors, all the corpses pale beneath the red stained armor. Everyone belonging to the nation of death as they lay on the ground, their concepts of life all the same. From the moment I chose to grasp my sword I had accepted my fate, I will one day lay with the creatures that crawl. Have my enemies chosen the same path, have they accepted their fate?

I mourn over this dismal battlefield, the putrid smell of combat lingering in the air. It fills my nostrils causing a fire in the pit of my stomach. I can see no enemies here, all who lay agree with nothing, their stance now neutral and free from the sway of untenanted words. I have been the reason for the sanguineous drippings that pool the ground. But, now I see, all are the same in the pathetic end, no glory behind my words, no reason to stand at my side. My army falls at the sound of my lips.  

I kneel on the dismal battlefield, my sword loose from my grip, my body no longer willing. For what freedom do I fight, what is the unjust nature that rises against me? My breath is hollow, my limbs grow numb. What words can I say to turn them who have pledged their life to death? The fire within me grows weak, I feel the still air growing frigid. Will I see those who have fought beside me? My sight grows blind to my purpose. Will I see those who were resolved by my words? My surroundings become scarlet as my mind begins to quiet. Will those who fell under the spell of my lips remain resolute? My hope no longer beckons me.

My hands grasp the dismal battlefield, the mire seeping in between finger.  

Author's Note

Something I wrote a while back that I will be incorporating into my book. Constructive criticisms are welcome as well as any corrections needed.

Reviews

[Hi]

This is good I think. What might serve this well is the element of the next in the line of command so to speak; to take down the perceived "weak".

[Stan Lee]

Wow, nice work David. Heaps of imagery and great descriptions. I like your writing style. :)
One thing, did you mean between *fingers* in the last line?

[Ruth]

This is so beautifully done, sparked my emotions, what was fought for and what internal drive died that day from such chaos and then introspection challenging the reasons and whys...wow...I really like this David :)

[Chase Dylan]

This was really engaging on a somewhat morbid level... Loved it, and your word choice was impeccable for the environment... Well penned...

[David R Gonzalez]

thank you for taking the to read and review. I when writing this I was going for a morbid feel

[Chase Dylan]

You are welcome, and you nailed the nail on the head my friend...

[J.A. Blackwell]

I don't know why but this reminds me of the battle scene with Jon Snow in GOT. I really like this one.

[David R Gonzalez]

Thank you for taking the time to read. I am a fan of GOT and pretty much any type of battle involving medieval weaponry.

[J.A. Blackwell]

me too! Which is why I am writing a fantasy story lol. Yeah dude. Keep writing! I love your work.