The Pains of Battle

Hi. Obviously this is the first time that I've posted a story so I hope you like it and please, I would love some feedback, so if you don't have the means to post a comment, tell me what you think by emailing me at somewhere2open@gmail.com. Thanks. C

A flag was raised, the banner of the king held high. Ahead was the man himself, high astride a regal horse with shining stirrups and buckles. From the back, where all the soldiers stood, William hid among his comrades, staring up at the banner.

His mother had convinced him to join the cause; the pay was excellent and even if he died that day, if the battlefield became stained with his innocent blood, his family still might eat for months. That was what he was doing there, that was why he risked his life; for the security and safety of his family. An old friend of William’s had joined the rebels, like a brazen fool he left his family behind and, as a result, each and every one of them was slaughtered. William could not let that happen to his family. Not his.

On every side the others stood, as uneasy as he was, each only here for reasons like his own. Nobody in the King’s army really believed in the cause, they only wanted what was best for them out of it and that was fine by William. He had no care for them either.

There was a loud clanging and he gripped the hilt of his standard issue sword as it hung in its scabbard. It was a basic weapon; decent balance, effective sharpness, basic design. It was a sturdy weapon and despite never handling it in practice, William was sure that he would manage just fine. He certainly hoped it would take care of him in the thick of battle.

Suddenly a war horn sounded. Arrows rained down on them from every point above them; they were sitting ducks. Warriors stampeded from every direction with wicked sharp blades, style and skill these young men had never encountered. These people were passionate, strong, dangerous. Each had the same look in his eye; a look that said “for the right to our lands”.

William panicked in the chaos that surrounded him and swung his toothpick wildly. He think he might have cut one of them down but he was not sure. He might have cut down his own comrades. He just did not know. So he ran blindly through, still swinging this strange contraption as if it might just save his life against these civilised savages. 

He turned, hearing someone coming up behind him. He looked into the face of a friend he once knew. The boy punched him playfully, as he had done one hundred times before but William did not understand because this time his friend did not laugh, he did not smile. He just turned to someone who was attacking him and sliced them with his sword. William pressed a hand to the pain in his stomach and as he fell to the ground, he could only think of the family he was leaving behind.