Ultimatum

• Roshell Perera, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2012

In the end there is only me and you.
There is only the inert beating of your heart, your final breath and me stoically awaiting your demise.
I am ultimate.
There was never a more sizeable gap than the one present between stupidity and heroism. Nevertheless more often than not the two are questionably inclined to travel hand-in-hand. Today was no different. Six hundred men from the Light Calvary brazenly lined the stark field of Balaclava against the evidently more superiorly numbered Russians. The sky was overcast yet the velvety wine splash of colour contrasted the almost demonic mead, which seemed as if God himself had filled his palette with the hues and shades of despondency and affliction, only with this date in mind. However such philosophy seemed lost to the six hundred, their unwavering valour counteracting any warring or dismal thoughts.
A resounding voice pierced the tense ambience, "Forward the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!"
The words everyone was waiting for. Man and steed charged. Sabres drawn and flashing diamond in the trickling sunlight. The Russians attacked with haste, felling soldiers in a bellicose rhythm through their superior military prowess. Gasps of exclamation emanated from the expectant viewers as Russian, Cossack and British men amalgamated into one conflicting mass. Screams of anguish plagued the air as man drew arms against man, throwing away moral for the likes of patriotism. An almost obligatory sigh escaped my lips - this simply meant more work for me. Please do not misunderstand me I am not so cruel as to disregard the sanctity of human life, nor am I the sadistic many of you associate me with. But in my field of...work, it is more sane -in the very extensive run - to be apathetic than empathetic.
The meagre remains of the six hundred rode back in a soft cadence, their forms losing their previous bravado somewhere in the infernal battle. Their audience and military personnel welcomed them -their faces brimming with reverence. The word 'noble', 'fortitude' and others of similar variety were exchanged and acclaimed. Soldiers dismounted - some missing limbs, others stained so expansively with blood it was difficult to distinguish it was their blood at all. Reporters engulfed the blessed few, whom were allowed to live another day, fight another battle, but would nonetheless encounter me one day.
Separating from the vulturous journalists, I simply proceeded to finish my job. I should effectively be more tolerant to it now, but there is a certain poignancy that comes to untying a soul from the safe haven of its mortal body and accompanying them to kingdom come. I morbidly scrutinized the distorted man lying haphazardly on the sodden earth, he had been trampled on by countless steeds and lost half of his lower abdomen in the conflict. I loomed over him, onyx eyes staring into fading azure, as he clasped on to tendrils of life - fearful of yielding to the darkness.
Please forgive me, for I am ultimate.