Quiver

Warrior

  There's a girl, whom on the street looks like a warrior. She's confident, daring, bold, gallant. People aspire to be like this girl. She holds up her shield blocking  the sharpest swords and the most lethal arrows. The shield is trimmed in a bronze like gold, covered in the design of a knight slaying a dragon. This girl saves people everyday, keeps them up, gives them what they need to be a happy human being.

   But there's holes in her shield, some bigger than others. Many wonder how powerful, how unstoppable a weapon must be to get through her shield. That's what she's known for the most, her special, indamagable shield. Nobody could hurt her without her shield. But what about without her shield? What about the holes in what seemed to be invincible? She never answered.

   So people tested the girl. Would see how far they could go before she won. How many battles they could bring upon her before she dropped dead and someone else would take her shield and her sword, her bow and her armor. But no matter how hard they hit her, no matter how badly they hurt her, she always won.

   But what if- the act was inauthentic? What if behind that smile she gave when she helped people in need, who were emotionally deteriorating, it she was her who needed the help the most? She gave a helping hand to everyone, but when did she ever receive one? What if behind that armor and sword and bow and shield she wasn't the strong and gallant girl everyone believed her to be? That by everyone battle she faced she was getting weaker? 

   Her shield protected her from the emotional abuse that she was handed. But there were times when even her shield couldn't protect her. When her sharpest sword wasn't sharp enough. When her toughest armor wasn't enough. Because she herself, was never enough. And with each wound she received that went through her shiny shield and shiny armor, she was losing herself.

   Then there were those she couldn't save. So now she thought, if I touch him, will he disappear?  Afraid of loving someone, she was. No, not of loving someone. Of losing someone. And that inflicted her, so she couldn't love someone. Take off her shield and armor and drop of her sword and bow. Because in other ways, she was afraid of losing herself.

   So she helped others. She helped others so they wouldn't become her. People came to her when they were at their weakest, when their face was soaked with tears. She had found so many people at their breaking point and healed them, that nobody ever thought that she was at her breaking point herself.

   "How many more battles can I face? How many more times can I be struck with a sword before my injuries kill me?" The girl asked herself. So she became afraid. When mobs came with their swords and spears, she ran and hid so they wouldn't find her. Wouldn't hurt her. She wouldn't take it, no, she wouldn't.

    She needed help. Her battles got harder, her wounds bled more. She couldn't face her battles alone anymore, but who did she have? Because she had to chose between helping others or helping herself. She could save herself, but would have to drop her armor and her shield. She couldn't let others see her as who she really was. If she kept running and hiding, she wouldn't get hurt but could help others.

   So the warrior girl marches into the middle of a war with her armor and her swords, her gallant smile and daring face that was merely an act, ready to fight to save others. Not herself, no, there wasn't a purpose in that, but she would fight to save others. Bare the pain so others would not. She'll keep fighting until she dies, keep on taking wounds. But now she's lost enough blood it doesn't hurt anymore.

   People don't know the truth behind the warrior girl. The pain she faces, the nights she spends with tears like rivers streaming down her bruised cheeks. She'll never tell people what she really faces. The girl is a warrior, but only for others to see.

    And that girl is me.