A Short Story: The Battlefield

“Sweat pours down my face; a stream of boiling lava scorching my skin.”

The Battlefield

“Welcome back. Didn’t expect to see you so soon,” the horned-one growled with distaste; exposing long, battered fangs.

The stench of rotting souls fills the air. The sound of otherworldly shrieks and ever so violent fluttering of flesh-covered wings is deafening. Hooves stumbling over stones and shattered bones create a low, thunderous rumble. Sharp claws scratching in failed attempts at stable footing are akin to nails on chalkboard.

It appears my presence has caused some “uncomfortableness;” I thought.

As the creature eluded, this “space” was not foreign to me. Not long ago a great war was fought on this very soil. The indigenous suffered defeat. Forever lost numbers never before seen.

The tension was understandable.

Sweat pours down my face; a stream of boiling lava scorching my skin. I close my eyes; slightly tilting my head back.

As I stand there; soaking up the energy from a familiar battleground; fond memories of yore are interrupted.

“What brings you back?” timid lips muttered.

I open my eyes. I bring my head back forward and down; just past center. I reach for the gnarled, battle worn grip of my sword.

My Spirit; my Energy; conveys an all too often and clear message.

“I’m not done yet.”


Never Surrender