»
Main Forums
»
Passions in Prose
»
An Ending
| Passions in Prose |
|
An Ending |
|
|
Eldest Member
since 2010-06-15
Posts 177Alabama |
She quietly, furtively approaches the battlefield where so many lay dying. The death and destruction make her ill, her instinctive urge to retch restrained, as she searches through the tenebrous field, her anguish so strong, the dread in her breast growing and getting stronger as each moment goes by. Weary and dreading what she will find, she moves among the bodies, still searching for one special man, murmuring his name over and over. Yet she cannot see him in all the blood and death, no matter how hard she tries. Her hurt boils inside, urging her to vent it with weeping calls, still she looks. She has to find him, the only man she has ever slept with, the man she adores. She knows it is her fault he was here; she doomed him with her words of anger. The rising sense of menace she feels makes her want to flee, but her regret drives her on, detesting herself for sending him into peril. There, his flag, wrapped around his horse, she pauses, afraid of what is ahead. The lights of the night sky choses that moment to pierce the shadowed earth. With a sorrowing call, she summons help, praying it won’t be too late. His eyes open, he sees her face and tries to speak through the blood. “Don’t,” she murmurs, “wait, I will save you. Do not leave me or I am damned.” She fixes her eyes on him, as she pulls at the weight of the dead horse above him, the magnificent beast that carried him into battle and died protecting him. The sense of menace increases, someone is coming, someone who seeks more death. She desperately hacks at the leather, trying to move him as he moans in pain. Suddenly, help is here, the squire pulling and struggling to move the obstacles. He slashes at the leather and pulls away the barriers to movement. Movement behind them, as a foe rises in loathing to finish what he started. She wheels, dagger in hand, an unexpected adversary, taking him off guard just long enough to drive it deep into his chest. He stares at her, aghast, then looks at the dagger. “You have killed me,” he stammers. “Yes, and I will kill anyone who tries to do him harm,” she speaks softly but clearly. He falls and she turns back to the squire, who has freed the man from his fleshy prison. Weeping, she helps the younger man pull him onto a blanket, ready to leave this field of death and destruction. Other approach, offering to aid, but she sends them away to ready a place of healing, call for a healer. She has already seen that his arm is lacerated to the bone, the white showing a broken end. Sorrowing, she knows that if he survives, he will never use it again. Suddenly, she begins to laugh, a dreadful, painful sound of suffering. One of the maidens comes to her side, but she pushes her away. “I am all right, I am so weary of death and destruction, so weary my soul aches.” It is an ending, although not the ending either of them wanted. If he lives, he will never leave her for war again. She can only hope that he will not despise her for the cruel words that brought him to this place and time. |
||
| © Copyright 2010 Eldest - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
