"Forever Dead" by Bernice H. Mills

Forever Dead

By Latania

I knew a man
once.

Beautiful he was, with a kind of glorious imperfection that could break a
heart. He had a voice like silk on steel, and eyes like tunnels into the void.

He was a study in contrast - light and dark, black and white...good and evil.

Both were present within him, each struggling for dominion over this creature
of glorious possibility, this eternal crossroad in the soul.

They cared little for the torment they inflicted on this tool of their shared
destiny, and he knew not to object.

It was hard to love him, flawed as he was. Not for the large flaws - evil was
only one of these, and one could almost love him for the scope and breadth of
his evil alone - but the small ones. Spite. Cowardice, as seldom as he
displayed that - and then only in matters of the heart.

It was
harder to love him for those, but we managed somehow.

It took some
time before we managed to see past the shell he had built about his soul, and once
we did some among us were reluctant to set aside old grudges...but we did.

And we came to know the beauty trapped in the shell of cold loathing, the love
he had to give - enough for us and to spare.

And we loved him the more for the love he gave to us - freely and without
expectation. He had grown used, in his life to give without expecting, and it
was enough to drive us to tears that he could not perceive the returning
affection we held.

He was
chosen to lead us into battle against what he had once been, and there were no
objections beyond his own.

This is the measure of the love we held for him.

The day of
battle came upon us, and we went to give battle to a foe none of us could hope
to defeat - and he gave us courage.

"We are done", his demeanor said. "We are fighting a battle we
cannot hope to survive, let alone win, but we'll fight. While breath remains
we'll fight on, for the living and the dead and the dying and those who never
had a chance.

And if it is my destiny, to die here today and join the heroes of the past - by
the gods, I'd have them remember this day!

I would have this battle resound to eternity - I would have my grandchildren's
grandchildren say : "Here they fought. The dead and the damned, fighting a
lost battle to win desperate seconds for those behind. And to the last man,
they stood and died for the dream of peace."

And we took
hope from this, and fought like demons gone mad with grief. And if our enemies
thought that his death would drive us to despair, they were sadly mistaken. When
he fell, we howled in grief and horror and fought on, the whistle and crash of
swords his only dirge.

We were not victorious. But then, we never expected to be victorious. Only a
fool would have expected that, and the gods are not kind to fools in battle. We
merely fought to bind them here for a time, until those behind could cast the
spells they needed...and in this, we were victorious.

We are
bound; they are bound. We have done this thing, and it is good, and it will
stand to eternity.

As will I,
crouched above his still body with a bloodied blade in my poet's hands,
defending my lord till the stars are cold and the planets have ceased their
motion.