Marya

I sloshed through the mud, head bent against the rain. My shoulders were slumped in defeat. I couldn’t tell if the water on my face was rain or tears. It was probably a mixture of both. I wasn’t crying because I was sad. I was crying because I was frustrated and angry. I held my heavy axe in my hand, dragging it through the field, destroying any plants that may have survived previous carnage. Hundreds of feet trampling on them, flattening them until they were like green pulp in the dirt. Blood was mixed into the mud. I could smell it even over the rain. Then again, the blood may have been on me. I had killed more than my fair share. Swinging an axe came naturally to me. Just as naturally as using a sword, spear, club or bludgeon. I could fight pretty much anything. But I couldn’t fight what was taking my sister.
Last year, a foreseer had told me that in a year’s time, Marya would no longer be with me. But she wouldn’t tell me what would take her from me. I vowed to fight it. I decided that nothing would take my precious sister from me. Nothing. When the war started, I thought that Marya’s fighting spirit would put her in harm’s way. Maybe I would lose her to the war. So I had her stay home. She was in Drekel now. I was on the fronts, trying in vain to move forward. But at least Drekel was safe. Or so I had thought. At first, felling enemies felt like something alien. I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around killing people as if they were animals. Slaughtering them and rejoicing when their blood spilled. But now? Now, I lived for the bloodlust. But how did I get here?
It started when she got sick. Half of Drekel was sick. And medication was across the border. We couldn’t get to it, not with Shashel in the way. So I had led a charge on Shashel. The town was taken. Medication was delivered. I had had no conscience then. Men, women. They had to go. But no children. They all reminded me of Marya. So we let most of them cross over to our side. We had lost a lot of children. We could use replacements. Surely then, Marya would be fine.
Surely not. The medication failed. And there was nothing I could do about it. What now? Marya was deteriorating and the last letter I had received from mom said that things were only getting worse. Marya had written a little bit by herself, saying that she was grateful for all I had done. What had I done? Killed hundreds and she was still dying. She was still leaving me. A heard a roar as a stray enemy emerged from a hiding place behind a big stone. He couldn’t have been much older than me. He had a handsome face, an admirable build. “Filthy Darian!” he shouted, raising his sword and charging. How pathetic. I hefted my axe upwards and knocked his sword out of his hands. Then I placed it on the ground head down behind him, stood on the handle which was standing straight, and leapt onto his shoulders. He stumbled forward and grabbed my ankle flinging me clumsily forward.
I landed on my hands, did a somersault to right myself and sprang back to butt my helmet against his shoulder. I had gotten back my axe and swung at his spine before he had time to lunge again. He fell hard, and I crushed his neck to end the pain. He didn’t have to suffer. It wouldn’t help Marya. Out of habit, I knelt by him as the life drained out of him. I said a quick prayer for his soul and touched my fingers to the blood on his neck. I turned his head, closed his eyes and then smiled. His pulse was still. I had killed him. How nice.
But it wouldn’t help Marya. The one thing that I couldn’t fight, couldn’t kill, couldn’t threaten. And it had to get my sister. I held my axe as close as I could without injuring myself and dropped to the ground next to the dead man. What was wrong with me? I shouldered my way until I was half under him, just sheltered by the rain. I could kill thousands like him. I could kill them all. It wouldn’t make a difference. For the first time since I hugged her and left home, under the firm belief that I was about to save her, I realized that no matter how many lives I took, I could never give life to Marya. My precious Marya.

A Toy

The wind seemed to be in a hurry as she raged past me towards something that made the mistake of catching her attention. However, once she’d inspected it I felt my hair dancing like a dying flame and realized that Id made that fateful mistake as well. Goosebumps riddled my exposed arms and legs that has the audacity to face her in a battle of endurance. The unstoppable force seemed to have met the immovable object. She raged, trying to take me to Neverland almost like a mermaid. I tensed and my muscles, like good soldiers, obeyed and dug in, keeping me where I stood. I exhaled and hoped that I would soon be rescued from Wind’s wrath and overwhelming power. A moment later, sure as the sunrise, my saviour slowly and clumsily came around the corner and scooped me up; shielding me from the rage of the winds if only for an hour.