I stood there with my eyes closed, sword in hand. My black hand had turn red, blood dripping down my sword onto something or rather into someone.
I have always wanted to be as brave as the Spartans, but my way of living does not permit that, i fight to live and not to die.
Everywhere i turn, i see bodies, bodies of men who thought or belived that the greatest act of all is dying for their country, their families, and themselves. But what good is the greatest act when am lying dead with an arrow to my chest, two spears in my stomach, and swords in different parts of my body.
I walk around the bodies of foes and friends alike, carefull not to step on anyone as a sign of respect. Those that are half dead i let live, those amputated or almost dead, i help to the ever-after.
I grab our flag, avoiding the pleas of other soldiers to help them up, and face the rising sun, trying to decide where my last stand will be?, home? Or another war?. For now home is my only thought, if i will get back alive is left to the creature.