Victim of War

There was a loud whistle in his ear. The type that comes after loud noises or maybe strong hits, he couldn’t tell. Everything went completely blank, and then it was all darkness. His body was numb and cold. Without any choice in the matter, he went to sleep.

But, just as if there were something in him, a little part, that was still conscious, a little part that knew that sleep and death were very close brothers, he woke up. A sudden rush of adrenaline brought him back. Or more specifically, brought his body back. His mind, was lost. And with his mind, his purpose, and care for everything around him, and when everything is taken from a man, all his got left are his most intrinsic and raw instincts. There was one thought in his mind, one purpose recently birthed, and a simple one. Run.

Everything around him was dead, but somehow he was alive. His clothes were almost completely burned, so there was nothing on him that would identify him as ally or foe among this sea of steel and blood. He tried to stand up and fell down heavily. His left foot was hurt, but he could not feel pain, just the stiffness of his leg beyond the knee. Still, dragging it, he stood up, naked among ash and burned bones. He was like a white spot on a black circle, right in the middle of the biggest battle in centuries.

Looking up, he looked for the sun, but the grey clouds were hiding the bright disk and threatening with a powerful storm. On the dark clouds there were even darker shapes, following the paths of the dragons fighting above. He took a step and suddenly, a hand grabbed to his healthy leg. Looking down, he was scared. A burned down man was holding to him, he looked more death than alive, but even with his face all destroyed there was pain and a silent cry for help. Ally of foe?? He couldn’t tell. He pulled his leg forward and the hand broke down as if he was pulling at the dried branch of a small plant. And then, the word became louder in his mind. RUN.

There was nothing else to do, so, he started running. Clumsily, he advanced a few steps before falling down again. While on the floor, catching his breath, he saw an arrow flying just where his head would’ve been had him been able to stay up. There was something new in his mind. More than a word, an emotion, not a concept but something running through his veins as if it was his own soul. It was fear.

He thought about running multiple times again, but every time, he was paralyzed by fear. It was like a disease making him unable to act. And not being able of anything else, he went to sleep. This time, there was nothing to wake him up, and he didn’t fear sleep’s brother. Again, he thought about running, but away from this world. Into a new one without fear.

And so, one more life was lost. He didn’t die for his king, nor did he regret leaving any family behind. He died just wanting to escape hell. The hell that he woke up already in. And he was nothing more than another victim of war.