The Burial
(a funeral for the dying)
Morning dawns.
The smell of blood is overwhelming here, and if the stories that he hears are true then it should come as no surprise. From the barren earth – someone had set fire to the place – comes the drowning stench of the dying and the already dead. The dying of their company is as much a part of this place as the corpses-now-dust. He is with the broken screams, the begging for mercy, some who have found their death at his hands, and others who found their death even before; their screams falling upon silent and unhearing ears.
(No one can feel the earth as he does; he is a boy of little imagination)
His master seats himself upon the earth. He knows the rite all too well; he has seen it all before. He knows that no one says the words the way his master does: words too ethereal uttered through profane lips and made pure by the unhesitating desire to kill – to taste the dirt and the blood that comes with it – to fight, to live.
(The dead won't be able to listen, he had explained)
(Funerals are for those that are left behind)
The sun sheds its rays upon them, a distant fire burning softly on his skin. The rite is done and they will leave this place.
(a funeral for the dying)
Morning dawns.
The smell of blood is overwhelming here, and if the stories that he hears are true then it should come as no surprise. From the barren earth – someone had set fire to the place – comes the drowning stench of the dying and the already dead. The dying of their company is as much a part of this place as the corpses-now-dust. He is with the broken screams, the begging for mercy, some who have found their death at his hands, and others who found their death even before; their screams falling upon silent and unhearing ears.
(No one can feel the earth as he does; he is a boy of little imagination)
His master seats himself upon the earth. He knows the rite all too well; he has seen it all before. He knows that no one says the words the way his master does: words too ethereal uttered through profane lips and made pure by the unhesitating desire to kill – to taste the dirt and the blood that comes with it – to fight, to live.
(The dead won't be able to listen, he had explained)
(Funerals are for those that are left behind)
The sun sheds its rays upon them, a distant fire burning softly on his skin. The rite is done and they will leave this place.
