Before The Walls Of Troy

• Georgina Ray, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2018

Before the walls of troy we stood strong. We held our heads high, our eyes trained forward, and our backs straight. We were men of Greece, and men of Greece never feared battle. Despite that, most of us were barely seventeen and had never seen a real battle before. I was scared, but I couldn’t show that I was because men of Greece did not feel fear.
We were one massive group of armoured warriors, packed so tightly that all I could see was the back of the man in front of me, all I could smell was the stench of sweaty bodies, and all I could feel was the pain of the straps of my armour biting into my skin. Slowly we began moving forward, gaining momentum as we charged towards the walls.
Suddenly, a great clamour of unimaginable noise descended upon us. The crash and crack as shields collided, the metallic clang as sword parries were exchanged, the dull thud and slice as sharpened bronze met flesh, and the endless screams and agonized cries of the soldiers dying.
Our tight knit group was swiftly thrown apart as our forces shattered against the Trojans. Everything was happening so fast I could hardly see who was an enemy and who was an ally, a man next to me fell and I looked around frantically but I could not see anyone coming at me, only a thousand men engaged in a thousand battles around the fields of Scamander. The air was thick with the scent of death; my feet sank into bloody mud.
I ran forward, clenched my spear, summoned a battle cry, and-
My muddied feet caught on one of my fallen allies and I plummeted forwards, my cry dying in my throat. I landed face first in the ground, but quickly forced myself up, coughing up blood and mud. My breath was heavy in my mouth, and my eyes had started to prick with tears of pure fear. I might have then stood and retrieved my spear, but I didn’t, because just then a perfectly aimed spear shot through my back.
At first all I felt was the impact, but as the sharpened point sank deeper into my stomach the pain came swiftly. It burned and ached and spread though my whole being, as my blood flowed down my stomach and back in two thick streams. I made half whimpering and gurgling noises. Uncaring hands were then placed on the spear, and my breath caught in a half cry as the spear was wrenched from my back.
I fell onto the muddy ground, choking and spluttering, trying to push myself forward, my hands slick with my own blood. I wished I was strong, I wished for god-like power. But I was no god, not even a demigod; I was simply a pawn in a bigger game. Like so many before me and so many after me, I, the nameless soldier, died slowly before the walls of Troy.