Delilah

Untitled Part 1

The day started hot. Flies flew between the bodies as if they were already dead. It unnerved the horses and annoyed the men. The dry cracked ground under their feet burned through their sandals and heated their bodies more than the rising sun. Sweat rolled down their skin and dampened their already drowned spirits.

We knew we would die soon, but we were soldiers, and we were honoured.

I remember I stood in the middle, just a helmet along with the others. But after that, how I got to the next part of my life is just a blur. There was volley after volley of arrows, and then we charged the enemy.

The sound of armour against armour, sword against sword, which I remember, that I will never forget. I know I slayed many that day, but I know as well that part of me was fatally wounded that day, too. Part of me was left behind.

I remember fighting until the red sun lay sleeping, but of the battle I did not know the outcome, because when I woke I was not in the home of my gods but floating in a swishing sea of tall wheat on my back, being dragged by three men who chattered excitedly in a language I did not understand.

I couldn't move. Couldn't fight. Weak. I lost consciousness once again then.

When I woke, the men from before lay sleeping peacefully under a tree. I crawled on my belly away from them, but only collapsed in a bush by the roadside before I slept once again.

After that, I only woke occasionally, slipping into nightmarish fits or death-like states in between.

The rattling of chains. The hot sun.

The murmur of voices I did not understand. The hot sun.

The bumps of my cage when the road twisted. The hot sun.

The crack of a whip. The hot sun.

The beating I received when I kicked one of the traders. The hot sun.

The harsh blows when I would spasm in between consciousness and sleep. The hot sun.

Until the market place.

I didn't know how long I had been awake. Conscious. I know they dragged me on a mat behind the cage. I know my sides burned in the dirt and my arms had gone numb from being bound.

They. Them. The lowest of the low. Picking slaves from the proud dead of battle.

If they only had me... I am the last of my brothers left. The last alive, but not long.

One of my captors danced toward me, glee evident on his face. My arms were tied above my head and I lay on a pallet of straw. My ankles were tied down.

There was yelling, cheering, arguing men, sighs of defeat.

The smell of anticipation, urine, tears, defeat and victory. The reeking smell of fear that clouded the air and slunk around very house, human and animal ever created. Its teeth were bared here.

I could feel it. It was around me. Swallowing the earth around my feet.

Two strong men followed one of my captors and roughly grabbed the top of my pallet. My hands were wrenched and bound to the top. I was standing with no freedom. My body was on full display. My head lolled to the side and my eyes screwed shut in pain.

A blemish less hand took hold of my hair and yanked backward. The hand let go and a harsh, menacing woman stood in front of me. Her hair was black and her eyes were painted in shadows. Red dye stained her lips, and golden bangles dangled on her wrists. With skin dark like the traders' and eyes like a hateful cat she was cruelly beautiful.