Lone Fighter

I'm a survivor.

I'm a warrior.

I'm a fighter.

Standing near the cliff’s edge, I can feel the raging sea below, roaring waves come crashing against the shore, as if his hand outstretched, beckoning me to come forward, tempts me to walk a step forward into his arms.

The earth is blanketed with total darkness. An overpowering stench of rotting flesh hangs in the air. I shoot a distant stare at those lifeless bodies scattered across the land. Flies come in swarm, covering the corpses; vultures devour the cadavers, enjoying their biggest feast of the century. My comrades, lay motionless on the battle ground, I can tell by looking at their dead white faces, horror-struck eyes, that death takes them by surprise. A sarcastic smile runs across my lips. I wonder, will I join them for the feast in hell tonight? Or can I resist the continuous invitation from my allies?

Callous, you might call me, for this is the truth, I’m unaffected by the smell of rotten flesh or the view of brutally distorted figures.

A gush of icy cold sea breeze wakes me up from this trance. I know I am alone. There’s no where to hide. I cannot escape.

The enemies are closing in. A few paces backwards will be the edge of the cliff. Should I take faltering steps backwards – the ocean will send me all the way to hell. Everything I have ever owned will be lost forever – dignity, pride and honour – history shall not remember me.

I wish I have the ability to freeze time. I will sacrifice my every breath to stop the unforgiving seconds from trickling down the tiny opening of the hour glass. I know, it will be— eternity — if time pauses in mid air. Can I then use the time to redeem what’s lost?

Ironically, I can hear the ticking of the clock so vividly. Every tick is amplified by the mind, loud enough to remind me the every second I have wasted.

I close my eyes. As if it is an answer from God to my final prayers-- the actions I have taken in the past flash across my mind in slow motion. They are clear images, I should say, as though freshly imprinted in my soul. Laughter and giggles, memories from the younger days keep ringing in my head, as if they are yesterday’s.

I slowly open my eyes. I give the surrounding an emotionless gaze. The enemies are like tiny ants, countless, flooding the land which was once a green pasture. I hear nothing but my own deep breathing. My sword...the one that accompanied me through all the battles, which once brought me endless honours and glories, though stained with the enemies’ blood, could still gleam in the dark. But not this time. This war, a shameful war indeed, has wiped out the faintest glimmer from my blade. The greatest disgrace our nation will need to bear.

It is time. The moment I lift my double-edged sword, I have decided my own fate. Casting a bloodthirsty smile at my blade, my coward foes stagger a little at the sight of this magnificent sword which had ended the life of many. Sparks of admiration appear in their eyes, as much as the hatred burning in them, just like how Gollum loved and hated the Dark Lord’s ring.

My sword is hungry, so are theirs. With a silent roar, I surge forward, making a bloody path out from my enemies. Waving my sword in vain; one hard slash, the enemy’s weapon breaks off – together with his head. Warm blood splatters on my face, my dry lips. The taste of enemy’s blood is indeed satisfying.

When the enemy’s fighter lurches forward into my fighting zone, his eyes are filled with hunger, I can imagine how my enemy will rip my flesh into shreds, gobble them down like a glutton, and wipe his mouth with satisfaction after the last bite. I know how much they hate me, for the innumerous lives I have taken from them.

The enemies continuously pounce on me, swinging their weapons in all directions, taking no aim at all. Brandishing my sword from side to side, I take a short moment to wonder, how can the enemy look down upon us and send such incompetent fighters against us? It is a great insult to our warriors, who will choose to fight only the mighty ones, while the weak attack us from behind. As I have said, this is a shameful battle, by sending the weak and unprepared to the war, the enemy has humiliated us deeply.

I think it will be an effortless attempt to wipe this crowd out. When I raise my sword , I swear that I saw fear running down their spine. Even the bravest person on earth will quiver at the sight of death. Far above, a silver stream of light from heaven shines down upon us. The angel of death throws us a bitter look, his face covered with tears; for every drop of tear he sheds is accusing us of how foolish we are; the ancient hymn he hummed beneath his breath floats in the air, it is so melancholy that seems all of us would drop our weapons, kneel down and ask for forgiveness. At that very moment, I can see the weak murmuring their final prayers. They know that their time has arrived. The sharp edge of my blade pierces deep down into their hearts, followed by a powerful and merciless withdrawal of the blade from their bodies. No time to utter their last words, my enemies drop dead.

I know, people tell me I’m a survivor. They know me as a fearless fighter.

The enemies swoop down on me like eagles. One against many. I know I am strong. I know I am a mighty warrior. But even the strongest person will falter; will start to doubt his abilities when he is worn out. One after another, they keep on appearing. A life lost does not mean anything to the enemy. They’re like the walking dead -- Zombies, blood oozing out from their heads, marching towards you from every corner.

This war has been for days. Nothing to nourish my soul. The tiniest motivation left in me has completely diminished after my last comrade draws his final breath.

My hands are starting to feel numb, the sword seems to weigh heavier after each wave ; my eye lids are heavy, putting my judgement and accuracy to test; my legs are getting tired, I act as if I’m a drunken stagger.

Satan is tolling the death bell himself…slow and steady… ding dang dong .

His mocking laughter echoes in the air; a chill ran across my skin when he casts me a ghostly look. I know he is silently scorning at my foolish behaviour.

He knows, for the lives I have taken, it’s impossible for me to buy my way back to heaven. I’m an outcast. God has long cancelled out my name from the list.

On the other hand, the gates in hell welcome me with big arms; the flames in hell are burning fiercely, eagerly waiting for my arrival; The devils beat the drums repeatedly in unison, thump…thump…thump…waiting to announce my homecoming. I scoff at this illusion. Then again, why should I deprive them of their happiness? I find perfectly no reason to reject their invitation!

My enemies are closing in once more. Forced to take a few faltering steps backwards, there I am once again, standing near the cliff’s edge. I can feel the raging sea below, roaring waves come crashing against the shore, as if his hands outstretched, beckoning me to come forward, tempt me to walk a step forward into his arms; and this time, I am completely beguiled by this sinless lure. I rather feed the dead than to let those alive feed on me. I close my eyes and murmur softly. How will this end?

Hey, you know me, I am a survivor.

My comrades will respect me as a warrior.

And I believe, even if I do not fight to the end, history will now and always remember me as a lone fighter.

----- END -----