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The Trap

Updated on January 4, 2013

An exerpt from my “Warrior” story collection.

Anger, hurt, pain, a flash of light as she drove her sword into the stone floor with phenomenal might. Her black hair shimmering by the light of open fire torches mounted high on the stone walls surrounding her. Frustration, how did she get herself into such a hopeless situation, with seemingly no way out? She grunted as she pulled on the hilt of her sword, dislodging it from the now cracked stone. A tranquil silence enveloped her; she hung her head, a single tear track on her reddened cheek. Far above, night was visible; thousands of stars hanging in the cosmic blackness, taunting her with false freedom. There was no escape. She tried to remember how she’d been lured into this dank place but her memories were disjointed with panic. She could picture herself above ground, walking through the velvet darkness, her path illuminated by the moon’s eerie glow rendering her skin luminescent. Her mind was dazed. The next memory was nothingness, then this place. She remembered the waves of fear crashing through her toughened body, eyes wild, darting from wall to wall like a caged animal, no way out, no way out! What a fitting end; the fallen warrior trapped underground, left to die in solitude. Nobody would ever know, not for a long time at least and by then her legacy would be insignificant, maybe it already was. She shuddered and pulled at her long red cape. Somehow she hadn’t noticed the cold before; it had crept up on her and now engulfed her, her body numb. A sense of betrayal lingered in the back of her mind. Betrayal, but by who? A long moment passed, she closed her eyes again and mentally searched through the events leading to her predicament. Her head was sore, she had been knocked unconscious. She opened her eyes, unsure. Suddenly she was overcome with panic once more, in her heart she knew. How could she have been so blind? Shadows dances and flickered on the walls around her. Being alone she could tolerate, but the memory of betrayal stung her to the core. She cursed her stupidity gripping the blade of her sword till the warmth of her crimson hatred flowed over them. Why had she not seen this before? The memories came back to her now as her eyes filled with tears of frustration. Her mentor, her lover, her enemy; this woman, once revered, was now her captor. She sank to her knees letting the sword drop, the noise reverberating around the cavern. The will to escape had left her suddenly, cold, numb, alone. A million thoughts ran through her head then nothing…silence. There was only one way out now. She looked down at her sword catching the reflection of her cruel, distant eyes. There is such a fine line between the warrior and the warlord, between light and dark, a line she had crossed before in a time where she had revelled in the blood of the innocent. A junkie to power and adrenaline, she had used all her finely honed skills in the worst possible way but now she realised her mistakes. Hanging her head in shame she screamed out a guttural call to death, in her heart she wished for peace though her mind sung of retribution. Conflicted, confused, she lay on the cold stone floor, curled her body into a ball and cried at the question her mentor had asked her just before the sickening blow to the head ‘Who are you’. She didn’t know anymore…

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