Short stories

Aftermath

Damp land and downpour of blood. 

Those were words that I'd use to describe my days at the front lines. Being cladded in heavy armour with a just as heavy sword strapped by my side, I was lunged into battle for our kingdom, for the king that I didn't know the name of. The days I spent at the front lines were filled with war cries and showers of blood, painting the ground below us red. The nights I'd spent there were filled with hopeful dreams of soldiers wanting to return home; back to their families. Every evening I'd return to the campsite to find one of our men, that I signed and shared stories with, unable to return. Dead with his dreams of going back home. I along with many men whom I once came to consider family laid our lives spending months, or perhaps years at the gruesome battlefield. Bodies rotting of friends and foe alike. 

We fought with people who had the same dreams and aspirations as us, fighting for the selfish king that threw us at death's door all for his greed. He wasn't a benevolent king like many yearned for but a tyrant; a cynical tyrant that sold his kingdom to his greed. 

By the time the war ended, everyone had died. Some lost their lives while others lost the will to live. Those who returned home, weren't able to bring back the light in their eyes that once shined so bright it would render some blind. They returned but the light didn't; they were only a shell of what they were prior to the war. It pained us all to see that the people who fought so hard couldn't come back but only their shell and shadow of the past did. 

All the while the king cheered for he had won the war. A war that ended us all. Even after all the years, the cries of the dead echoed in my mind, the splattering blood that painted us and the ground red, and the pain we endured never left my mind. Their existence engraved in my mind so deep, I doubt I'll ever live without them. That is if I were still alive. Every time I closed my eyes I'd hear the clanking of the metal, the crimson red ground that we painted with blood and the corpses lying there both friends and foe alike. 

The king won the war but he lost his people, a sin so grave that he died at the hands of the very people that fought in the gruesome war. The entire kingdom rejoiced at the death of the tyrant but, what after that? No one knew the consequences of not having a leader. Many greedy souls tried taking the throne for their selfish selves but they were cut at their very roots. No one wanted another tyrant. So everyone did what they knew best; hope and pray to a being that didn't even exist. They turned towards god; a mythical being we believe to rule over us. Someone with omnipotent power that could save us. 

He didn't before so why would he now. I amused myself with this thought for weeks until a miracle happened. 

Miracles are impossible turned possible. 

Eight weeks after the rebellion against the king; the day he was  beheaded and the very same day when we finally set our kingdom free from his tyrannical ways. A figure clouded in mystery granted us with his presence. He brought to us a new path. A path that helped us change the way we lived. He showed us a way to rule our kingdom ourselves. He introduced to us democracy. A system of ruling by the people for the people to the people. It seemed absurd at first but many people went on the try this new method and it bright us wonders. We found great leaders in farmers, scholars, house-maids, tailors, soldiers, the list goes on. Men and women alike were there,who were courageous enough to step up out in the world and show us that they too can rule— no, they too can lead a kingdom— our kingdom. 

They all ruled for a specified time period. A time period of five years. There were enough leaders that I'd need at least five more hands to count. The system brought many changes to our land. No more orphans had to sleep on the cold streets, no one was so poor to starve to death and none had to freeze in the cold winter nights. There was only laughter and smiles all through the lands. People singed and danced and laughed for I never heard another lost soul cry. It warmed my dead heart to know that the war we fought and died for wasn't in vain. To know that somewhere in the future, there would not be a repetition of the history that we lived through.  

Tragedies are not sung by the dead. 

Everyone died in the war, a tragedy sung by many, a grief mourned by all. A time no one would forget for as long as they lived. We died for our mother, our kingdom and we never regretted that. Perhaps that was the sole reason that we stuck around. We watched as everything changed from the brutal war to the crying families to their courageous rebellion and finally to the the land, now a republic, created by our own people after hundreds of years of hardship. A place where everyone was happy for the short life that humans lived. A place we were proud to call a safe haven.  We do not ruminate about the past tragedies but dream of a better and happier future. And at the end of it all, we'll sing about our hopes and dreams. A song that will echo for generations to come.