The sound of war rings like an old song in my ears. The kinds that mother used to sing.
It's an old comforting feeling. The screams of the dying and the sound of steel on steel, steel in flesh and blood flowing like a flood on the ground. And, the wind, the lovely wind carries the scent of blood, warm and rich, oh how I love it. Smells like war.
I wouldn't be anywhere else if you paid me to.
As I stand there watching it all, its all just too much to take in. I mean, how do you control mad bloodlust taking its course like a snake through your soul, ready to unleash its venom on anyone or anything that stand in your way? You don't. You just let it run amok, like I wanted to do.
Oh, but what would you know! You aren't of warrior blood from where I see. As for me, I was born in a war, and this is where I'm sure I'd die, wouldn't want it to be anywhere else as I said.
So I get into the fray, kill a few hundred, mow down whatever comes in my way, rip the spine of enemy commander and hoist his skull on the tip of my sword. My clothes are all wet with blood, of my enemies, just the way I like it.
It's a lovely feeling at war, nothing beats it. Absolutely Killer, if you don't mind the pun. But then again a man has a home to return to, a witch of a wife and hell hounds for children and the same crummy life till the next war comes.
I've never written a monologue piece. Not a bad job I think, try equating this in terms of modern life, make quite a lot of sense, if you read between the lines.
And as always, changes are coming. Damn, I say that all the time.
Hope all is well our side, in case stories are not your cup of tea you can find my poetry here and my views, opinions and rants here.