#135

This isn’t right, this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

I’m still yelling my war-scream out at those who stand in my way, charging, hacking and slashing on a dark, bloody battlefield. I can almost feel the blood dripping from my face…I’ve become so callous to it, I don’t even notice it anymore. The aching of my muscles, too, seems insignificant…I just have to keep moving, keep surviving, continue to crush. I can’t stop, won’t stop. There’s no mercy, no remorse, no thoughts…just mechanical precision and callousness. My head hurts, it aches, but that, too, I can’t focus on. I need to keep moving, I have to keep swinging, the alternative is death. I can’t die, not yet. I used to know why. I don’t anymore. I don’t remember why I’m fighting either, I just remember that the cause is just and my life is worth giving for it. My cause is noble, though I may not remember what it is. It doesn’t matter. Forget it. Stand and think and you will die. Keep moving. Survive. Keep paving your bloody path through those who would stand against you. You cannot stop, I cannot stop. Move.

I see them and I don’t feel. One swings for me. I see him first and raise my axe shaft to deflect the blow, shift my weight back, flow forward and slam my other axe into the side of his head. I can see the impact, the implosion, feel the bloody spray, and hear the liquid crush as my blade cleaves through his skull. It is done. I turn away and move on to the next. There is always more. Hundreds of nameless, faceless bodies of no real importance or meaning. There is another, this one stronger then the rest, stronger than those who are there not of choice, those forced, those who are afraid. He is here, like me, because he believes. Because of his own will. He and I are kindred. I roar, not even realizing what I am saying or if I’m saying anything at all, dig lurch forward, digging my feet into the ground and I run. I run, swinging my axes without thought at those in my path, not even looking at who I strike. Am I striking friends? Am I striking enemies? I don’t know. I don’t care. He is all I care about. He waits for me, braces against his shield for impact, and I crash into him, shoulderfirst. Immediately his sword pommel comes swinging down for my head, but I expect that. I shift away and take the hit on my shoulder. The pain slices through my body like electricity and I feel it, the anger, and punch at him with my fist, taking him directly in the face. He reels for a second, off-balance, and I see the opportunity and swing at him. He’s ready by the time I get there, easily sidestepping my wild swing. Then I feel it. He’s run me through, just to the left of my belly button. I feel the pierce, I feel cold snake slither through my stomach and out my other side. Then suddenly my entire body is on fire, burning. It feels like I’m throwing up, but I’m not. It’s blood. How did it get there? Why does it hurt so much? Then I stop thinking and the anger takes over again. I scream, I scream in anger and in rage, and I push the blade deeper, getting close to him, swinging my axes at him. I swing, I swing, burning with anger every bit as much as my body burns in pain and I hack, I hack, I hack and he falls. I, too, fall. The anger is gone. The pain is gone. It’s just cold now. Even the ringing of metal is barely noticible. It…doesn’t matter…why is it so cold? I wish I had a blanket. I wish I had Jessica here to lie next to, to hold on to. She’s warm…she’d keep me warm…we’ve slept together, I know she’s warm…