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First would ask the questions, the whys and hows.
Maybe she could make out the screams and prayers of those close.
She would wonder how
Confusion was never her friend, she was the one with answers every time.
Not this time.
Wondering, how could she not know?
She was the one who always knew everything about anyone and anything around her.
Maybe she ̶c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶'̶v̶e̶ should’ve done more
don’t
she accomplished enough
she just paid the price
What happened
Second did what they could
They did all they could, and that was enough.
Maybe it could be all the difference, but would we get to know?
Do any of us get to know the things we did made an impact?
why not know
what else is this life for?
You only get one chance, right?
Their chance was up
The lance went through them.
Brief moment taken, breath drawn.
Noticing the screams starting, and they wouldn’t stop.
Third falls, grasping his side.
All the flickers make obvious what happened,
The sparks shimmering on those foes’ hands were magic
It hadn’t been seen for decades.
Tales of it went around, but never to be seen,
always to be feared
how do you fear something you don’t know the extent of?
Maybe when we make it out, we’ll tell them.
We’ll tell them everything
̶i̶f̶ ̶w̶e̶ ̶d̶o̶ ̶m̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶i̶t̶
Fourth tried
Through thick and thin, they always tried.
This was a trial, and we all tried.
it’s hard to fight when you’re still in denial about what you’re fighting
̷w̷h̷y̷ ̷a̷r̷e̷ ̷w̷e̷ ̷f̷i̷g̷h̷t̷i̷n̷g̷
this can’t be hopeless, we still have eight
Nothing to debate, keep fighting on.
just keep fighting
it’ll be worth it ̶ ̶̷̶r̶̷̶i̶̷̶g̶̷̶h̶̷̶t̶̷̶?̶̷̶
Fifth kept trying, though an arm cut off, she still tried.
The hope of living was there, we all just needed it to be brighter
except for the fifth, with an axe that crashed through her head.
How many are left to die? A feeling of being so hung out and dry
we’re just waiting
do we actually know what we are doing?
̷̶̷g̷̶̷i̷̶̷v̷̶̷e̷̶̷ ̷̶̷u̷̶̷p̷̶̷
̶̰̰̰̰͟͟ ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟g̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ḭ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟v̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ḛ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ṵ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟p̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟g̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ḭ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟v̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ḛ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ṵ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟p̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟g̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ḭ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟v̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ḛ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ṵ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟p̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟g̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ḭ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟v̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ḛ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ṵ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟p̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟g̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ḭ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟v̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ḛ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟ṵ̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟p̶̷̶̰̰̰̰̰̰̰̰͟͟͟͟
Six. Six dead. What happened?
Everything was all a blur.
Here,
here
on a field painted with allies blood
How?
How could I
Seven.
That’s seven too many,
Death can’t be deserved,
right?
Seven too many,
right
Eight.
He was just alive
Running around the field looking,
just looking for them.
Eight was too late for seven.
Ninth,
and the rest too soon after.
Ringing muffled the screaming for just a moment,
The world around us shook, and it overtook me.
Erased, the tenth closes his eyes, but not for the last time.
Memories of home line his vision, he reaches out.
He grasps it.
Eleventh sees movement toward the hills, through blurred vision she can’t tell if it’s friend or foe,
but she already knows it’s friendlier than those who shot her.
Just the twelfth, me. Dull ache in my side, I wonder: will I make the grass grow with my blood?
no one’s left to tell our story ̶?̶