The sun begins to rise upon a grassy field. It heats the cold earth, creating a foggy mist that swirls around the feet of a thousand men. They look at each opposing side with malice in their eyes. Their hastily made armor and shields protect their flesh. The sun breaks over the horizon and a war cry is called from one side. Unwilling men are thrown into a battle that is not theirs to be fought. One man catches another's eye. They are connected in a way in which neither of them wishes to acknowledge. They are pushed towards each other by fighting men. Both are the epitome of valiant warriors, a bowman and a swordsman. One pulls an arrow back in his bow, staring at the other threateningly. His eyes speak a sorrow that they both share. He silently pleads for the other to just find another to fight. And yet, the distance between them closes. The other pulls his sword, the silver flashing in the dull sunlight. The mist is rising. The fog cuts their vision. The Bowman clumsily shoots, missing his target by far. Whilst struggling to pull another arrow, he gasps at a searing pain in his abdomen. He presses his hand upon the wound, feeling his life flow through his fingers. He pulls a dagger from his boot and angrily thrusts it into the chest of the other. His sword drops to the ground, the bow soon following. They fall. Those gallant fighters are no more, but before their deaths, the same girl flashes before their eyes, but not for the same reason. She was a loving sister to one, but a loving wife to another.
From across the fields, she stands watching. Her long dark hair sweeps across her shoulders in a breeze fed by the fury of war. Her eyes desperately searching for the men she will never see alive again. Her mind doesn’t know that their blood was spilt by each other's hands. The war is over . . . not a man is standing. She walks among the dead. Her delicate slippers find no friction on the blood-covered ground. Slowly, tears fall from her eyes. She is surrounded by death. Then she sees them. They are lying side by side. She drops to her knees and looks down at them both in shock. They wear not the same colors. Her brother's dagger lay buried in her lover's chest. This is not how things were supposed to be. Her heart is shattered. She takes both of their hands in hers, and lifts her eyes to the sky. Tears fall to the now rust-colored grass as she lay next to them, their blood staining her hands, and she closes her eyes.
Copyright ©2002: Megan E. Dickerson
October 14, 2002