Stop. I long to stop. To rest. To be stopped. Is there not a…
I am, am I? Then why can’t I, through all my tears and prayers, stop what I’m doing? Why do my limbs move? Why does my heart beat? Why do my lungs draw breath if all I’m going to do is against my will?
Help me, I pray again and again and again.
Another one’s before me, and my tired muscles ready themselves for the fight. Our swords ring and flash.
Please, I think, finish me; be the one.
His guard’s too low. I lunge. He overcorrects with his parry, like I knew he would. The tip of my sword was already ducking under his hilt before he’d even reacted. The point is mine, but we’re not playing for points now. Blood runs down his shirt, and his face, frozen with the shock and terror of death, gaps at me silently as he falls.
The bodies are everywhere. His was the last. Senseless. Meaningless. Stepping into the little boat, I untether it with a quick slash. The gentle current begins pulling me away into the waiting tunnel where no lamp burns nor any other light shines. Darkness there before me, I sit by the rudder and clean my sword.
These tunnels are strange to me, but I know, eventually, they all lead out to sea. The darkness is here now, the scene of my massacre a quickly fading star behind me. Soon, even that is gone, and all I have are memories and the echoing lapping of the river lulling me into a dreamlike state.
She is here. I can see nothing, but I feel her stare, her sad, grey eyes. I close mine, not willing to face her. It’s no good. She’s in the darkness with me. I feel her touch.
I open my eyes and find a world of stars above. Behind me, the city is shrinking away. Standing up in the little boat, I stare into heaven, searching for some meaning to the pain.
Tale Told 