The Fires That Froze Time

A fictional battle.

There was once a myth of the undying fire of Spes, the goddess of hope.

In the middle of Rome lay her hearth

The Romans worship it daily in the hope of repelling the Greek invaders.

But the Greeks were relentless, thousands of Romans slaughtered in a daily basis.

What was once the greatest empire, is now but a grain of dust in the desert.

Small, outnumbered, easily blown away.

And their emperor was desperate.

Desperate to end the war in any way he knows.

In his regal clothes he knelt on the dirty marble floors of his temple.

By the stone pillars, the hearth of Spes flickered with anticipation.

The emperor prays.

The Greeks were approaching the walls of the capital of Rome.

The Greek's weaponry were outstanding, their catapults crushed twenty Romans in one hit.

The Romans had shield bearers and archers by their wall, yet it was futile.

The shield did nothing to the overwhelming force of a thrown boulder.

The archers hit with every shot, but the Greeks flooded the walls like a frenzy of ants.

Metal clanged and swords were unsheated. The Greeks killed and murdered every Roman they saw.

If they did not fight, they raped every single woman they saw.

The Romans became so desperate they shot and killed their own women and  children so they may not  suffer the defiling of the Greeks.

The Romans were outnumbered, and they ran towards the palace of the emperor.

Higher, the emperor demanded,  bring the oil higher.

The slaves did as they commanded and used a pulley to  ascend a large barrel of oil towards the top of the palace.

At the bottom of the barrel was Spes' hearth.
The slaves knew what the emperor was planning.

And they were convinced he was mad.

The Roman soldiers gathered at the feet of the emperor as he observes the barrel.

We are outnumbered, they said.

Douse yourselves in oil, the emperor commands. We will end this war today.

The soldiers did as they were commanded, and left, leaving a trail of oil, from the palace to the battlegrounds.

And the emperor ascended to the top of the palace and filled a cup with oil.

He rubbed it on himself, and he began to weep.

Oh goddess Spes, He called out.

May my death end this war.

The Greeks laughed as they fought the oiled Romans. They slipped and slid on the pavements, and were easy targets for the soldiers.

What idiots, the Greeks thought.

Surely they must've gone mad from battle.

And they cheered as they saw the emperor's visage from the palace, laughing as they realized the emperor was oiled as well.

Then in a loud voice he proclaimed-

Brother's we are enemies of old, when our empires began we fought, fought for land, for glory, for honor, for women, and for gold.

But does the lives of our men cost more than these? Are our empires really worth the blood we spill?

Look at our cities! it is flooded with blood and rats!

Look at our women and children! Raped and broken!

Where is the glory?

Where is the honor?

Can we bring our gold to Tartarus?

We fight because we will never be one!

Tell me why we say skies when there is only one sky?

Or lands when we share the same earth?

Seas to a large ocean?

We  will never be one,

Because everything we see-

We divide.

The Greeks stood in stunned silence as the emperor ordered his slaves to release the ropes.

The oil barrel dropped into Spes' hearth, and exploded, trailing fire to the steps of the soldiers.

The Greeks realized too late the plan of the emperor, there where miles of oiled soldiers behind them.

And the fire was spreading quick.

Soon the capital of Rome was surrounded by the deadly blue fire of Hope.

The emperor screamed in dying agony, his last desperate words lost to the sound of burning men, women and children.

The Romans and Greeks alike stood in silence as they saw the  burning capital.

They had fought outside the capital, in an abandoned field, and now they saw the capital burn.

One soldier dropped his sword, knelt, and wept, praying to the gods to save his people.

The other soldiers followed in his example.

There were no Romans or Greeks, just people crying over the deaths of their friends and family.

The earth stood still that day.

The wind refused to move,

The seas refused to churn,
and the sun refused to set.

It's as if the sacrifice of the emperor shocked the world into submission.

The only thing that moved was the fire that burned Rome.

The fires that refused to see whether who's innocent or guilty.

The fire of Hope burning alive those who once basked in the warmth of it's light.

The fires that froze time.

Reviews

[Fathom]

Firstly , I don't consider my self such a great person who can "judge " a piece of writing , but a good one deserves an appreciation. The lines were so stunning that some of them made my veins swell. Where some things were unclear , the fantastic ending concealed it.