The Beginning Of An End

• Rebekah Scattergood, Grade 10, Good News Lutheran School
• Short Story
• 2015

Excellence Award in the 'The Write Track 2015' competition

Icy snowflakes glistened in the weak winter sun, gathering gently on bloodied swords and broken bodies. Like icing, the snow sweetened the battlefield's cruel brilliance, covering over the tragedies, hiding the grotesqueness.
And yet, the horror of the past months were still fresh in the mind of the beholder.
His sorrowful gray eyes took in the scene, watching his valiant soldiers bow to the enemy - one by one, falling as relentlessly as the constant snow from the heavens. Death hung in the air like a heavy perfume. The King knew his time was up. Submission had been inevitable, the war only prolonging the pitiful act.
In a last act of defiance, the King went to remove his bronzed crown – but even this privilege was denied him as pain sliced through his side, stealing his breath, crippling his limbs.
Small, velvet hands enveloped his own calloused ones, taking the once-loved tool from his heavy brow. A warm drop of salty water graced his skin, falling from the sea green iris of his beloved. It was a reminder of the home he'd taken her from, stealing her from the wonderful cacophony of the waves – and failing to provide her safety in his own home.
“Be still, my King.” Her melodic voice broke through the symphony of war booming from the gates below. “You have done all you can.” She spoke with a tremble of emotion. A line of crimson ran jagged across her pale cheek – another reminder of the King's inability to save those he loved.
His turmoil was halted as his thoughts turned murky – he was fading. He strove to grasp one more breath, one last word of apology. His Queen slowly caressed his jaw with quivering fingers, bringing his whiskered mouth to her soft lips in a final, sweet farewell. He tasted the metallic sting of her blood, the sour tang of goodbye.
After his death, his kingdom would be forced to surrender to their conquerors – cold, hardened warriors, ravagers of riches and destroyers of the prosperous. His people would be sold as slaves, their fates in the hands of gluttonous murderers. His beloved would be captured for her beauty, forced to do the bidding of their foes.
He had failed them all. In his weakness, he had handed those he loved to a life of suffering as he himself ran far away – never to return to free their bonds. Trapped in an eternal haunting of those he'd deserted.
His world faded to a white tunnel. His last picture was of a path of azure liquid mixing with a river of blood and grime, yielding a rust-red tear to snake its way across the sea of his wife's white skin.
Purity marred by failure.
The Queen's eyes closed in despair as the King breathed his last. This was the beginning of an end.
All in all, it was a sobering end to a golden rule.