The Battlefield

Foreword: Lovely Reader: this was another short story I wrote for my Creative Writing class. The goal was to write a short story revolving around a singular emotion, without using the word, or any synonym of that emotion. As you read along, attempt to guess what emotion I sought to evoke. Pleasant reading!

The battlefield was devastating; mud mixed with madness. The wounded as well as dead bodies were strewn throughout, while medics ran from person to person, looking for life. Any one of them could have been shot at, but they knew how valuable each and every living soul was. Dark storm clouds rolled across the sky. Large, cold droplets splashed onto the ground, swirling with the spilled blood. King Devon and his knights had achieved victory that day, and smugly watched as the other side made their way home, utterly defeated.

Maximilian, one of the winning knights, celebrated the victory. He searched for his friend among the numerous tents, and soon saw him leaning against the medic’s tent, bandaging his arm. “Hey Richard!” Max called, “There’s the big hero himself! How’s the arm?”

“It’ll be alright soon enough, Max. I have to say, you were brilliant out there!” Richard responded, eager to encourage his friend.

“Thank you kindly, but I pale under the comparison to your great swordsmanship. Never seen better skill out there than what you displayed!”

“I appreciate the compliment!” Richard said, putting his good arm on Max’s shoulder. Without warning, a singular arrow shot from enemy lines, soared across the sky, and burrowed itself into Richard’s heart. 

“I...” Richard let out a sharp gasp and collapsed onto the ground.

Max swiveled around, his blood boiling, as he glared down the battlefield searching for the culprit. He gripped the pommel of his broadsword as his vision went red. Two knights nearby were walking towards Max, and seeing Richard’s body, they picked up their pace. They gripped Max’s arms, attempting to constrain him, but to no avail. Max ripped himself free and charged down company lines and across the abandoned battlefield. The enemy, full of terror, were unsure whether to run or fight the large knight barrelling towards them. One soldier held up his bow, aiming at Max, then lowered it. Another soldier jumped quickly onto the back of his horse and turned in the direction of their country. 

Thunder crashed as the skies opened its gates. Everything was soon drenched through with water, and the blood covered ground became a muddy wasteland. Max swung his broadsword back and forth, slashing every enemy in his path. A loud cry rose inside of him, and he was not unlike a wild bear triggered into a killing streak. Soldiers on either side of Max fought back with every weapon they had, injuring him on his arm, stomach, and legs, but nothing could stop him.

Lightning cracked across the sky, electrifying the air. The army eventually jumped onto their horses and fled, while Max chased them as far as one man could run. He would avenge his friend, if it took him his last breath to do so. Eventually, the retreating army gained headway, leaving Max far behind. His breath became ragged, and his legs grew sore. His run slowed to a jog, and eventually, he was stumbling with no real sight or direction. Soon, the adrenaline that fueled Max for so long, drained. He couldn't continue, and collapsed on to the ground, exhausted. Half conscious, he contemplated how, even if he survived all his other injuries, there was one agony he would never recover from.