Heavy
Posted by
CMG
on May 10, 2023
2 mins read
·
war
He reaches as far as he can, all the way to the back it is hidden, almost forgotten. He pulls it out from under the bed,
wrapped tight in a leather skin with dust from five long years resting upon it. He blows it off,
blows the life back into the leather with its gray color changing to brown, carefully he lays it on the bed surprised by its weight.
He slowly unwraps the leather concealing, protecting, the steel blade, being passed down through six generations, from father to son.
As soon as the sun sets upon it the blade shines, lights up the room, as a long forgotten treasure, he picks it up and swings it around.
The weight is well distributed, it is masterly crafted and the handle is full of beautiful carvings, an artform long gone.
He finds it almost entrancing, but there is no time to waste, he sheaths the sword to his left side, through the belt as a scabbard he does not own.
Outside his hut he sees his countrymen kissing their families goodbye, with whatever weapon they could find strapped to their backs,
he knows most will not return. He walks alongside his brothers, pitchforks and swords in hand,
his own sword ringing with fury as they walk slowly toward the enemy.
His king commands it, so does his honor, and with sword in hand he walks with small footsteps, small but certain, always certain.
He will fight for his king, for his country, for his family, his father, it's expected, it's demanded.
The battle is merciless, bloody and unforgiving, as boys are killed, men are made or monsters born.
With each swing of his sword the ground turn red and his enemies dead, he thinks of his family in the moment and not the grief he is causing.
As the battlefield turns quiet and cries die out, he takes his bloody sword and his burden of guilt. Walking back towards his home, walking back with heavy steps.
