I met my enemy on the field of battle. I charged fiercely toward him, then looked up at his might, and saw the weapons in his hands, and felt my body go limp with weariness, and wished to relent.
I looked up into his eyes and saw cold resolve, no compassion, and lots of borrowed hate. A seasoned killer in the field of battle, loyal to his greed and conquest, and steeped in pride. All around us were those who cowered behind the shrubbery. They were dedicated to this proud tyrant.
The thought to flee came and left my mind, then I plunged toward my foe, to kill or be killed. He stood motionless, perhaps to relish the moment, perhaps to search his mind, how he might make the cause of my death make him look the best. This all passed rather quickly as I unfurled my sling, and took hold of the smooth stone of choice, and while running, while looking into the death of me, while looking into the eyes of my captor, and the tyrant over my people, I took aim by instinct, and flung the stone.
He fell hard and loud. I kept running as the shrubbery stirred, from before me and behind me, I took his weapon, his sword, and severed forever rebellious head from misguided limbs and carried triumphantly the head of the foe. The battle is the Lords, and the glory His.
I met my enemy on the field of battle, he came to fiercely fight me. He looked up at me in his futile gear, he saw my might and the weapons of my hand. I saw weariness come over him as the thought to flee came and left his mind. He plunged head long to defeat me or die, and die he did.
As he came toward me I had no time to think just to act. There was more at stake than just me, all these who awaited the outcome, lie in the fields behind me awaiting the jubilation surely to come. His shadow didn’t loom but his intensity and passion were sure as I cut him down and brought him to his end. The decision was made and done once he took that first step, he made his and stepped, then I made mine, and made his end swift and painless.
All around me they shouted and celebrated, and the enemies scattered, as I bent over my foe to mourn his passing. I looked up into the compassionate eyes of my Lord and King, and he smiled warmly, knowingly at my grief. He held out his hand, and embraced me, not a word to say, nor did he try. His tears and mine were all that need be spoken.
Laurence Brand, September 1996