I look out the window at the ruined city that lies before my eyes. Huge fires dot the horizon as the wooden buildings are burned to the ground. People are dragged out of their homes and beaten cruelly, sometimes killed. Men, women, and children are treated equally harshly; no one is spared.
My hand drops to my saber, which is belted to my waist. It is the only splash of color in my otherwise-black attire. Even my ash blond hair has been powdered with charcoal. Gently, I loose the saber from its sheath, withdrawing it half an inch before stopping. My hand rests on the hilt, keeping the saber in place.
The sky is the gray of death, and I can't help but feel that it is appropriate. Already, the bodies have begun to pile on the ground. But the rebels pay them no attention. In fact, they use the mountains of flesh as barricades, or climb atop to gain a slight advantage over their foes.
I turn from the carnage. I have seen enough. In any case, it won't matter in a few hours. I will be gone by then.
There is a flash of lightning, followed by a crack of thunder. A moment later, rain begins to pour from the heavens, gently at first but growing with power as time ticks on. It is as if Nature herself is crying at the havoc we humans have wrought. In this, however, I feel that She is right. Once, we coexisted with Her in harmony. Once, the sun always shone, the birds warbled their melodious songs, and the world resonated with love. Once, life was beautiful.
But now? Now, we leave a path of destruction in our wake. The sky is polluted with our inventions, our machines, our factories. The birds fell silent years ago, and the sun hasn't shone for longer than most of the People can remember. Now, we are killing our Mother, She who gave us life, She who sustains us. The world has been corrupted with our hatred.
I can almost feel glad that I will not live to see the aftermath. I am one of the few who remembers what it was like in the Old Times, one of the few who wishes those times would return. But too many believe in Progress, in Moving Forward, in the Dictator and His lies. Too many have forgotten the Old Times.
I walk to our bed--my bed now--and pick up my partner's pillow. Closing my eyes, I bury my nose in his scent, allowing myself this one final luxury. The memories flood back, but I ignore them. Soon, we will be reunited.
His body was delivered to our--my--door hardly three hours ago, and I knew then they would come for me. I spent only a few minutes grieving, and almost immediately prepared myself for what I knew was coming.
It is for this reason I wear black today, in lieu of my usual scarlet. I wear it to grieve, to mourn the loss of my partner, to proclaim that his death will not go unnoticed. It is for this reason I fight with the saber he gifted me. I fight with it to preserve his memory, to channel his spirit into the fight, to keep him with me always.
I know that I go to my death today. I know that there is no chance of escape. But I do not plan to accept defeat lying down. I will not succumb to death so easily. When I go, I will go kicking and screaming. I will take down as many of those cowards as I can. I will not let my partner's death go unavenged. These fools dared to incite my wrath; for this, they will pay.
I put the pillow down and turn to face the door. I am just in time. There is a single knock before the door bursts open, revealing at lest twenty armed rebels. There is a brief silence as we stand in a stalemate. I draw in a breath and let it go, shifting into a battle stance. The rebels tense, and a few draw their own weapons.
With a zing, I draw my saber, and the rebels rush at me. I smile ferally.
It is begun.
ns 15.158.61.16da2
