Phiri Posted June 25, 2023 Share Posted June 25, 2023 My short story: The Tale of the Soldier Slain by the Poet This is the tale of the mighty soldier who was slain by the lowly poet. The soldier went from place to place, conquering cities that yielded to her and tearing down the walls of those that didn’t. She was strong and agile. Her specialty was the sword. She could wield it as no other could. Her loyalty was to her king and to herself. The king wanted land and power. She wanted adventure and status. They struck a deal and a partnership when the king discovered her talents. She would conquer the biggest cities in the land and he would make sure the world knew her name, although now it is long forgotten. She went on her way, challenging the strongest forts, town, etc. She won every battle she fought and it became known that if she had her sights set on a city then it would surely fall. She grew in pride but also in loneliness, for everyone feared her. She had no friends and her family was long gone. The king didn’t care for her. She was only his tool. She tried to reach out, but no one would even make eye contact with her on the street. People avoided her. Even the people in her hometown didn’t want to interact with her. They thought if they said the wrong thing she may slay them. She would have fallen into despair but she pushed it out of her mind and told herself that she didn’t need anyone else. She was strong. She was pretty. Who needs friendship or people to care about you or people who love you? Right? One day she entered into a city, not intending on conquering this one. She was just going to stay there one night before she continued on her way. She booked a night at an inn across from the plaza. She didn’t have many things since she travels so much, and it didn’t take long for her to settle in. There were still a few hours before nightfall and she didn’t have anything better to do, so she decided to go on a walk. She walked around uptown and downtown until she stopped back at the plaza. There was no one there except a man in a feathered hat, sitting on a bench, scribbling words on a parchment. She sat next to the young lad and remained silent for several long minutes before fate begged her to speak. ”Hello,” she said to the young man. ”Hello,” he replied. ”What are you writing?” she asked. ”Poetry,” he said. ”Why?” she asked. ”I enjoy it,” he replied. ”Why do you speak to a commoner like me?” he asked the soldier. ”I don’t know. I guess I just felt like it,” said the girl. ”You are lonely,” the poet said. ”What? I mean I suppose I am but how did you know?” she asked. ”You wouldn’t have talked to me if you weren’t, and I can see it in your eyes. Not to mention a person who moves around so much will find it difficult to make friends. It’s the same for someone who has taken so many lives,” responded the poet. ”Hey! I only took the lives that were necessary to conquer those lands!” screamed the soldier. ”And why did you need to conquer those lands? You didn’t have to. You did it for your own gain. You took those lives for your own gain,” the poet continued, “Everything you destroyed, all the people you slain, was simply because you thought it could buy you happiness, but here you are: More depressed than you have ever been in your life. What did your conquering buy you? Nothing. It bought you nothing except loneliness.” ”I should be going,” said the soldier. “Good night to you,” replied the poet. ”Good night to you too,” responded the soldier. And with that the soldier got up and walked across the street to the inn where she was staying. That night she thought about all of the things the poet had said. Had she really wasted her life away? Was anything she had done worth it? After that night, the soldier was never seen or heard from again. The front desk clerk at the inn didn’t even see her leave. It is unknown what happened to her. Whether she went to start a new life for herself or otherwise I do not know, but there is one thing I do know. Only one person was ever able to stop the soldier. Only one person was able to slay the soldier that lived in her heart. Not kings nor noblemen nor warriors from afar. The only one that could slay the soldier was the lowly, commoner poet. And that, my friends, is the tale of the soldier slain by the poet. (I wrote this on quotev but I thought I’d share it here) Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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