I lay my weapon before me. The weapon glistens in the sun, as if empowered by its golden rays. It is nestled gently around the granulates of sand which cradles it so dear. The tool of slaughter and deception now rests back to which it came; taken from the land, it is given back to the land. It knows not of what it has done, only that it may again lie in peace with the elements.
The wind shifts the blood stained sand across the construct. It's hilt already covered by the ever moving ground. So harmless it is, without a messenger to wield it. How beautiful it is, without the anger to carry it.
I lift my body up to survey the land. Behind me lie my friends, my army, my allegiance. Ahead of me: conflict. The waves of the two forces clashing; grashing against each other much like water against the shore. I search the landscape at a more immediate distance. I count the victims that have fallen to my hand, and the heroes who have fallen at my side.
In the distance I hear a trumpet wail. It is that of a victory song, but much more somber than that of the old. Perhaps the instrument feels the same as I, worn out from age... or the idea of war. I take a glance up from my body count to see the wave of my allies make a crushing blow against those on the other side. My friends swallow up the immediate forces against the line, but make no move against the retreating force. This battle is over.
I take a look again to my piece of art. As hard as I look for it, it is no longer there. completely taken by the earth. It will no longer be able to take life, and I am glad for it. It's responsibilities for my deaths are over, but my responsibility for them will be forever constant.
I begin to ponder why we fight this army. We were told it was because they are evil, yet I have not seen this evil they speak of. We fight the same, we die the same, we look the same, and we want the same. All these deaths because of some monstrosity behind the other force's lines. All these victims at my feet.
We are all people, trying for the same goal. Undoubtedly we were told something to motivate us for evil, or for good. Why can;t we be motivated to be at peace with each other, so that we can achieve a greater objective, and not lose what we love so dear?
I make one last quick glance around the battlefield. Fallen victims litter the ground from both sides of the conflict. I see a lone figure running to me. His blood stained clothing and his over bearing limp shows how involved with the conflict he was. I am thankful he was not one of the many victims of this day.
"General," the lone figure gasped, trying to catch his breath after the lengthy run, "Are you alright? You have been rooted to this spot for hours! Have you heard the trumpets? Seen the retreat? We have won the battle! Sir!"
I nod positively in his direction, giving him a pleasant smile and a pat on the shoulder. I take a glance down back at the ground, but just as last time, my weapon is taken by the mother which conceived it. I turn, facing the tent which houses the minds behind the reasons of this battle. The lone soldier joins in step right behind me.
I leave my sword to be where it belongs.
Linear Mode
