Difference between revisions of "Red (2004 Bardic)"
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[[Category:Bardic Merit Awards]][[Category:2004 Bardics]] | |||
By: Aibell | |||
Posted on: June 30, 2004 | Posted on: June 30, 2004 | ||
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soldiers, brave and stalwart, marching into battle, but it was too distant to | soldiers, brave and stalwart, marching into battle, but it was too distant to | ||
even be real. | even be real. | ||
One day, while playing with my doll, a large, armored Atavian soldier | One day, while playing with my doll, a large, armored Atavian soldier | ||
wearing Mhaldorian livery came to my door, demanding me to get the men of my | wearing Mhaldorian livery came to my door, demanding me to get the men of my | ||
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day vividly, even now, years later, I still have the scars from the fall, but I | day vividly, even now, years later, I still have the scars from the fall, but I | ||
do not speak of them. | do not speak of them. | ||
Red was the soil where my brother fell. Red are my eyes when I | Red was the soil where my brother fell. Red are my eyes when I | ||
remember that day. Red are the flowers I plant at his grave. | remember that day. Red are the flowers I plant at his grave. | ||
Latest revision as of 18:24, 29 March 2017
By: Aibell Posted on: June 30, 2004
Red is the blood that drips slowly down a fallen soldier's sword. Red is
the color of the river after the battle. Red is the color of the eyes of the
mothers, who lost their children to war. Red is the color of the heart of your
girl back home, hearing the news that she'll never see you again. Red are the
flowers that weep for your dead friends. Red is the color of war.
When I was a girl of no more than ten, I lived in a comfortable house in the
outskirts of Jaru. I was a happy, carefree child, never knowing the full
effects of war. Sure, I would sit on my roof of my house, watching the passing
soldiers, brave and stalwart, marching into battle, but it was too distant to
even be real.
One day, while playing with my doll, a large, armored Atavian soldier wearing Mhaldorian livery came to my door, demanding me to get the men of my household. As I only lived with my older brother at the time, he was the one to answer this soldier's call. I continued to play, but secretly watched their discussion from the corner of my eye. I saw my brother beg with the man, plead on his knees. When I saw tears stream down my beloved brother's face, I picked up my doll and began to walk over to the man. That's when it happened. The great armored man unsheathed his hellish sword, and in front of my very eyes, he stabbed my beloved brother. When the soldier heard my terrified screams, he walked up to me, eyes glinting with the very soul of Sartan, sheathed his blood-stained sword, and grabbed my doll, slapping me in the face. He sent me backwards, leaving a small cut under my eye from his ring, and a cut down my back from the fall. When I finally regained my composure, I ran over to my brother, sobbing all the way. I collapsed down next to him, and wrapped myself up in his arms, letting my hot tears stain his shirt. I remember that day vividly, even now, years later, I still have the scars from the fall, but I do not speak of them.
Red was the soil where my brother fell. Red are my eyes when I remember that day. Red are the flowers I plant at his grave.