The Battle

There is a battle below us. They look like tiny fishes on the coast of a great ocean of war. Miniature, toy-like, and blood crazed.1

Flaming arrows fly back and forth, sometimes missing, sometimes hitting their mark. Each target found ends in the chilling scream of death.2

I am here, yet I am not here. I am a spirit that is first real, then fades behind the eyes of another.3

There are three behind these castle walls, high above the battlefield; a small boy, a young woman, and an old servant woman. The boy is brave and afraid. He crouches behind a solid chest of drawers as the women peer from the narrow windows of the grey stone castle.4

The old woman is calm and easy. She accepted death before the battle began.5

The maiden is sad and heartbroken. She is beauty and queenly grace and quiet strength. She speaks with a sorrowful, gentle voice.6

“Each time the arrows fly, they soar higher. It is not long now. I have commanded the Grand Fishes to go.”7

She has the power to communicate with the Grand Fishes telepathically. I watch in sinking resignation as the enormous golden fish swim out to sea, shimmering beneath the bloody surface of the oceanic battlefield.8

Now the boy stands. He walks slowly to a wooden bridge, miles above the foaming tide. The women stand silent behind him, waiting for the end.9

He begins to push small toy cars over the edge, watching them free-fall and plunge into the churning depths. He speaks softly, in a child's voice, but with words that hold wisdom far beyond his years. He is the image of youth, but the spirit of the ancients.10

“Death is beautiful. Death is the relationship after life. Death...”11

And I awake.