The Death of a Hero
He stood there, the silence engulfing him. His blue eyes darted around the plains, trying to make sense of the carnage. All around him human figures littered the ground, lifeless. His long, dark hair stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat. His jawline was as sharp as the sword- tainted crimson with the blood of the ones he once held dear- clenched in his right hand. His lips which were usually curved upwards in a warm smile which stole the hearts of many, quivered with uncertainty and disbelief- had he really done this? The otherwise handsome figure was shrouded with sorrow and despondence. His hands shook violently. He let the sword drop to the ground. It embedded itself blade- first with a soft slicing sound into the blood- soaked ground.
The sky was choked with dark clouds, mirroring his own state of mind. Streaks of lightning ominously electrocuted the sky from time to time. He raked his fingers through his locks, teeth clenched. He cursed profoundly under his breath. Everything, everything had gone wrong. It was all because of his rotten fate, his ignorance and his lack of judgement. He knew it was partially his fault, he could have prevented it all, but he didn't and now it was too late. He knew he had wronged, but he deserved another chance didn't he? This was a punishment way too severe.
'Why me?' Was the incessant question playing on loop in his mind.
The war had come and gone, annihilating everything that stood in its way. Once crown prince, today nothing. He watched his people turn against each other, his kingdom break into two. As crown prince he could have used his veto power to stop them, but he didn't. He chose, instead to follow his sworn duty- send every soul who challenged the king packing to the kingdom of death. But what use was that now? Everything he had ever stood for, fought for was gone. His father- the king- had long succumbed to the stronghold of death, just another causality of the war. His kingdom lay in ruin all around him, the place he once called home was destroyed beyond repair.
Vultures circled overhead, sensing an imminent feast. Cries of anguish from the ones who stood on the threshold between life and death pierced through his heart, hurting him more than any weapon could. He was once prince among commoners, now he was but ghost among the dead. Maybe that was his destiny.
Around him, ghost towers, villages and markets rose- a replica of his kingdom. It was just another day- a busy market, farmers herding cattle to and from their fields. In the distance, the watch towers of the palace rose above the kingdom like silent watchful guardians. His eyes pooled with tears of longing, longing for his old life, for everyone who made his old life worth living. As he reached out for it, it disappeared, fading into the oblivion.
There was nothing left now, absolutely nothing left to live for. Suddenly the enormity of the situation struck him like an arrow released from the bow of a skilled archer. He fell to the ground, despair clouding his face. It was like a balloon of grief had blasted within him. Nothing, nothing at all could be done now. Nothing would change anything, it was all gone and it was his fault.
His eyes- red for he had been crying for awhile- rested on the hilt of his sword. It shone like a star amidst the rather bleak background. The sword lay there, half- buried in the ground, inviting. He reached out for the hilt and his fingers wrapped around it. He slowly stood on wobbly legs and raised his sword- feeling anything but heroic.
Unexpectedly, the sun broke through the clouds and glinted off his sword, making it hard to look at.
'Do not despair hero,' A voice- smooth and comforting- drifted to his ears. He looked around in search of the source but there was none to be found. 'Do not be so hard on yourself for it is not your fault. You have only done your duty as crown prince. Everybody around you has perished due to their own actions.' Saying so, the voice fell silent. As suddenly as the sun had appeared, it disappeared.
Everything suddenly made sense. It was all like pieces of a big jigsaw puzzle fitting together, forming the big picture. He knew he had done what he must and now it was time for his final journey.
Mustering courage, he turned the sword towards himself. The blade, wickedly sharp, glared at him . It moved closer and closer and finally, as close as it could get. With one last, final roar that resonated throughout the plains, he set off on his final journey.
The atmosphere became more sombre than it was before- if that was possible. The clouds burst and let forth a torrent of rain which fell noiselessly on the ground. It was as if the heavens themselves had torn apart and were mourning the death of a hero.
The sky was choked with dark clouds, mirroring his own state of mind. Streaks of lightning ominously electrocuted the sky from time to time. He raked his fingers through his locks, teeth clenched. He cursed profoundly under his breath. Everything, everything had gone wrong. It was all because of his rotten fate, his ignorance and his lack of judgement. He knew it was partially his fault, he could have prevented it all, but he didn't and now it was too late. He knew he had wronged, but he deserved another chance didn't he? This was a punishment way too severe.
'Why me?' Was the incessant question playing on loop in his mind.
The war had come and gone, annihilating everything that stood in its way. Once crown prince, today nothing. He watched his people turn against each other, his kingdom break into two. As crown prince he could have used his veto power to stop them, but he didn't. He chose, instead to follow his sworn duty- send every soul who challenged the king packing to the kingdom of death. But what use was that now? Everything he had ever stood for, fought for was gone. His father- the king- had long succumbed to the stronghold of death, just another causality of the war. His kingdom lay in ruin all around him, the place he once called home was destroyed beyond repair.
Vultures circled overhead, sensing an imminent feast. Cries of anguish from the ones who stood on the threshold between life and death pierced through his heart, hurting him more than any weapon could. He was once prince among commoners, now he was but ghost among the dead. Maybe that was his destiny.
Around him, ghost towers, villages and markets rose- a replica of his kingdom. It was just another day- a busy market, farmers herding cattle to and from their fields. In the distance, the watch towers of the palace rose above the kingdom like silent watchful guardians. His eyes pooled with tears of longing, longing for his old life, for everyone who made his old life worth living. As he reached out for it, it disappeared, fading into the oblivion.
There was nothing left now, absolutely nothing left to live for. Suddenly the enormity of the situation struck him like an arrow released from the bow of a skilled archer. He fell to the ground, despair clouding his face. It was like a balloon of grief had blasted within him. Nothing, nothing at all could be done now. Nothing would change anything, it was all gone and it was his fault.
His eyes- red for he had been crying for awhile- rested on the hilt of his sword. It shone like a star amidst the rather bleak background. The sword lay there, half- buried in the ground, inviting. He reached out for the hilt and his fingers wrapped around it. He slowly stood on wobbly legs and raised his sword- feeling anything but heroic.
Unexpectedly, the sun broke through the clouds and glinted off his sword, making it hard to look at.
'Do not despair hero,' A voice- smooth and comforting- drifted to his ears. He looked around in search of the source but there was none to be found. 'Do not be so hard on yourself for it is not your fault. You have only done your duty as crown prince. Everybody around you has perished due to their own actions.' Saying so, the voice fell silent. As suddenly as the sun had appeared, it disappeared.
Everything suddenly made sense. It was all like pieces of a big jigsaw puzzle fitting together, forming the big picture. He knew he had done what he must and now it was time for his final journey.
Mustering courage, he turned the sword towards himself. The blade, wickedly sharp, glared at him . It moved closer and closer and finally, as close as it could get. With one last, final roar that resonated throughout the plains, he set off on his final journey.
The atmosphere became more sombre than it was before- if that was possible. The clouds burst and let forth a torrent of rain which fell noiselessly on the ground. It was as if the heavens themselves had torn apart and were mourning the death of a hero.
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