I march on, concealed in shadow, my black outfit blending in perfectly. I run my bony hand lovingly over my baton, gently touching the golden tip, the only remotely colorful thing under the grey sun.
I can't remember how long ago I signed up for this now. All i know is that our leader needs to send a message to his brother, and I am the shredded messenger. I walk proudly into the dwindling sunlight, the brightness reflecting off the silver buttons of my uniform. I march on, unaware of the shadowy figures behind me until its too late. They take aim and fire, the black tipped arrows flying everywhere! I dodge one, and duck one, but the rest hit me squarely between the shoulder blades. My uniform now in tatters, I sink slowly to the floor. The last thing I see is the shadows moving away, laughing at me, before my eyes slowly close
I get to my feet, flexing my skeletal frame, and pulling the deadly arrow out from my chest. I straighten up, and let out a laugh.
What the hell is there to worry about when you're already dead?