by Lukas Shadair

Created on: August 15, 2009   Last Updated: August 17, 2009

The smoke's tendrils curled in never ending spirals toward the wide expanse of polluted sky. The town was burning. It crumbled to the earth creating a ruin of brick, wood, and stone. Yasir stood his ground, for it was too late to turn back. The infantry advanced. Hundreds of armor-clad warriors tested in battle, and ready to bring down this famous bastard. With every step came a resounding sound of thunder, and the ground shook as if there were an earthquake. This was the time. This was the hour when Yasir would fight to the death while defending those whom he loved. He had disregarded his responsibilities in the past. Now was his time to make up for the false promises and scathing lies. Yasir began to run, unsheathing his saber as he charged at the fray of soldiers. They were close now. He could almost smell their foul breath and the unwashed leather and fur draped over their backs. The test had come.

Yasir could not feel his feet. They were numb. His legs. They were numb. His arms. They were numb. His chest. It was numb. All he could feel was his head and his heart, the last and first drum everyone hears. So it was not with guilt, but with pride and love that Yasir rejoiced for his last battle. He now had a chance to redeem himself. As he came upon the army he realized that he was now a man. He realized that being a man came not from one's physical strength, but from one's mental strength and resilience. For a woman it was probably the same, but he would never know, for he had set aside the women in his life, thinking that they were inferior. What a fool he had been. Only on this day, on the verge of death, could he recognize his folly. What a waste of life. But then again, maybe life only existed so that one could find out what he had just discovered. Maybe he was meant to die so that he would not live in ignorance, but so he could die with wisdom.

The men were upon him now. Yasir swung his saber through the neck of a man and then kicked another in the groin. He could smell it as he wreaked havoc upon this horrific enemy. He could smell the blood, the sweat, the pain, the suffering, and the stench of life. He could smell defeat while at the same time smelling victory. Yasir sliced through the bodies of these reckless men in their leather armor and fur clothing. He would not let them win if they thought that he would be easy to conquer. How could a man like him, whose parents he did not know, whose life was full of heartache, not try to bring the men he was fighting down? How could he not help them into the never-ending dark hole which is hell?

Yasir did not fight for pleasure, for that was hard to come by in these times. He fought for his life and the life of all those who loved him, which, admittedly, was few. With every swing of his saber, he severed off a part of himself. No human is immortal. It took a long time for Yasir to realize this, but now that he had, he felt happier. Happiness is not what makes one smile or laugh. Happiness is the satisfaction that is felt in one's soul, giving it life, and feeding its starving stomach. Yasir felt this satisfaction and enjoyed the taste of it. He fought for this happiness, wanting to savor as much of it as he could.

Alas, Yasir was not meant to win this battle. He was only one, and they were many. Turning but too late to see the axe, his life was ended. In the blink of an eye, Yasir ceased to breathe, but before that eye closed, he saw the Light. It filled him, devoured him. His time had come. The memory of Yasir lived on, but the body was left on the battlefield, doomed to rot and decay.

Many years later, his body sank into the sanctuary of Earth, enveloped by the brown darkness from which shines the brightest Light.

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