Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Battle Weary.

It is dark by the time he reaches outside. He hears the door slam hard behind him and he staggers out onto the wet grass, the rain falling gently down through the dusk sky. There is no one behind him. No one to hunt him down for the thing he now holds. In his hand he can feel the stone pulsing; its life force thrumming its message in the dark space of his palm. Lightning spears the sky and the air fills with the rumbling sound of thunder. The storm is moving toward him. 

He travels the path around the cliff face and he looks across at the mainland. He can see the others are safe, the glow of a light in the boat shining through one of the portholes. He falls, exhaustion folding his legs at the knees. He is bleeding and weary. He lies in the long grass, the wetness cool on his face. He clutches the stone to his heart. He can't go any further. He feels the rain falling down upon him as he closes his eyes and wonder what was the point. Why did he fight so much for so little? It feels it has all been for nothing.

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