terça-feira, 8 de maio de 2007

Fields of War

Ten million years or so, in this empty place, a battle to the Death. Sacrifice of minor humans, regular mortals who gave their lifes and hopes for something foolish that they believes. Their braveness and courage followed them to the fields but never to return again. Their Deaths, so epic, are still reminded today, their swords, broken and rusty by time, preserved in our minds. Brave hearts that fought for us, for them, for future. Their essences devoured by the Monsters of Hell, the bringers of Pain and Misery. Their bodies never more to be seen by the human eye but resting in peace in the fields of war.
The morning arrive with the early sun shinning on their shields, hard faces like rocks, look upon the horizon and pray to the skies, for protection of their souls and bodies. They know their fates and they wish to never be born the day when the Monsters of Hell would control the Earth. They fought that day to keep this green and blue Earth alive. They hoped that their sons continue this fight, a fight so long ago lost. Now the Earth is black of Death and red of the warriors blood. their souls, still wandering around, looking for a place to stay, a place that is still of the Earth that they fought to keep alive, a Earth green and blue.
The afternoon brings the smell of Death to the warriors side. Some fear, some cry, some store their emotions within. All of them look to the black horizon, they see the shadows of their opponents, the Monsters of Hell, as they prepare to move to the fields of war, bravely walking, their hearts pumping like there was no tomorrow. For them there wasn't. They knew it has they marched to the fields. But still they marched so you can live today. Life running away very easily from their bodies, their souls flying to somewhere safe to see the bodies of the mortal humans clash with the Monsters of Hell. Commanded by the Moon, they ran against the followers of Death, the Monsters of Hell.
They fought, they killed, they died, they cried and they screamed. Brave enough to call them all and send them back to Hell, a lonely man stand in the middle of nothing. All stopped. The Moon, Death, the warriors and the Monsters. Both Moon and Death stared to this man for he was their son, the cause of the fight. But they realised that he was no man anymore. He was a Demon, the Demon that rose from Hell, the Rising Demon. He killed, he hunted, he eliminated the Monsters and sent them all back to Hell. In the end of the day, when the dust had settled down and the Sun barely shined, he was the only one standing, wounded and looking in the eyes of his parents, Death, his father, and Moon, his Mother. That Demon is me.

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