A battle-stained field laid within eye view. My bloodied sword from the first guardsman shown sheathed on the under-patch of my belt. I sight myself in once what I grounded in. In the distant visage, my tent laid bare with but a checkered cloth spilled upon the table.

  I entrenched upon my labored compartment. Storages encroached on by lonely pillagers shown empty, decrepit in its once healthy plum. Across from my empty bearings wore a tightened rack, fitted with the dauntless railings that once withheld my personal accoutrements. The railings now held another possession, one of time and decay.

  “I knew you’d come.”

  I turned around to seek my final memorandum. My lowly image stood within the distance of our sword, laying on the wood of the center mass. His bloodied body atoned remembrance of the battle fought forty-two years long ago at my account – his, thirty minutes half assumed.

  “Thus a war so rampant must be caged.”

  “Do not quote such a man.”

  “Death is where ye shall stand.”

  “Then shall the crook, you old hag.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  A bloody sword held aloft. A bloody man held against a bloodied man. Our coat cooked blue as its navy steamed away. A patch along our shoulders laid its words upon each other once again – and for the first time.

  “To time, we fight.”

  “In the name of the Lord”

  Our war sprayed clear. Our message ordained. Let there be no man stand still in this final motion.

  “For our life!”

  “For our christ!”

  Listen to yourself boy!

  Time travel is a parallel.

  That should stay true!

  A war so rampant.

  Well…

  Thus a war so rampant must be caged.

  If you are to stand in such posture,

  Death is where ye shall stand.