My Hill

I sat upon the hill looking down at the battle that ensued. I could hear the swords clashing like that of thunder. The screams of the men below were carried on the wind as it gently blew through my hair. The grass felt like soft furs between my fingertips as I ran my fingers across it. Men and horses made their way through the battlefield some stumbling on the bodies of their comrades and that of their enemies. My finger pricked by a small thistle as my hand had glided dangerously close to the prickly plant. A small dot of crimson formed upon my finger as a man was cut deeply by a metal thistle of his own making. I sucked on the small wound and looked to the sky. The sun was bright and the clouds were nowhere to be seen. A perfect day.

I fell back and laid down upon my hill. I closed my eyes and it wasn't long before the howls of man slowly faded as I soon fell into a dream. In this dream of dreams the songbirds sang a beautiful tune like that of angels. The air was sweet like the finest nectars and butterflies carried soft whispers of affirmation to me. I flew high into the clouds and danced among the stars in a magnificent ballet the likes that had never been seen. The dream ended as I took my final bow and the curtains of space were drawn to a close.

I awoke feeling refreshed and revitalized. I stretched and let out a soft yawn and looked upon the battlefield as I sat up. The battle was over. The only victor was death. For death had more souls to collect for its own. My gaze easily shifted to that of the sky once more. The sun was bright and the clouds still nowhere to be seen. The breeze calmly and gently caressing my cheek as if to keep me cool from the suns kisses. Truly, a perfect day.