The After-End 02

What the hell!

He removed the leech and tossed it away. Further away from him, it landed in a muddy puddle just a few feet away

from where he was. He tore a scrap of cloth from his sleeve and tied the piece of cloth tightly on his wound to stop the bleeding. He stood up limping as he rested his weight on his left leg. His eyes rolled back for a bit as he silently chose to close his eyes. He shook his head, and opened them again. Then he glanced around. All he saw were remains of soldiers, children, and some people who wore like his garment, they were decayed and the smell was extremely choking. He covered his nose with his garb. He noticed some bald and odd looking vultures feeding on some of them, some corpses had no eyes, swollen bowels were exposed and many have been amputated.

What in the hell happened? He thought.

"I can't remember how long this battle has been going on. It seems like it has been going on since forever" he glimpsed around and admitted his hypothetical beliefs.

"Has there ever been peace? I can't seem to remember a time when there was peace." He scratched his head to recall any memory that pertained to peace but felt the hood covering his head, he pulled it back to reveal a thick jet-black hair, he combed through the thick hair with his fingers. He covered his face with his hands and released it with a sigh leaving dark smudges. He could not remember anything, not even his name. He scratched his hair roughly but no flash or trace of

memory came to mind. Squatting to his knees, an obvious reflex to his terrified state. He stood up and bent down again. Deep in his queasy thought, his mind drifted again.

What is wrong with me, how did I get here? He looked around again.Where do I go from here? What a weakling! The voice spoke again.

He leaped to his feet and darted on all sides. He checked and wondered who had spoken to him. He couldn't find anyone. He was awed and breathed a sigh I don't know what the hell is going but this is certainly not normal. He realized that he might not be thinking clearly.

I should have a family, I have a family. He speculated in his senses. I should have a Father and a Mother at least. He analyzed the possibility that he might be correct. Knowing he needed to leave the place, he searched for clues that might lead him home.

"All I know is that I am here, and I have to get back to my family," he declared. A family that still seems non existent to his messed up mind.

His eyes caught a strikingly beautiful sword whose blade glowed in the ruddy moon, it was a two-edged winged sword and It stood dipped into the ground. The grip shone with beautiful stones that enhanced its edges. It had some lettering written on it. He couldn't see it so he gradually limped towards it and tried to remove the sword from the dirt but couldn't, his hands wavered. It was too heavy for him to pull or even carry. He wondered why he could not carry the sword. I'm not sick, but why couldn't I carry it. He looked at the words written on it, but they were strange words. He couldn't read the words on it either, it was written in an ancient tongue. What could he say of the language, he had no idea.

Having no sense of direction or intuition on what lies ahead. He realized that he needed to have a weapon, he began to search for other swords but they were all too heavy for him to carry, even the spear felt misplaced in his hands. I'm not a fighter, but I have to defend myself

"I'll need a smaller one, " he reckoned.

He looked around again in search of a dagger or a blade but instead, his eyes spotted a brown and black striped leather satchel with a black clasp on its front. He darted towards it and crouched to his knees. He opened the bag and poured its contents into his lap. A fresh red juicy apple came off tumbling to his lap. Suddenly he began to salivate, his stomach grumbled loudly as if permitting so he bit into the juicy red apple and savored the taste. His head felt heavy, a flash of memory played. The invisible mist covering his eyes and thinking had cleared away. His feeble mind was unaffected but, his instinct was set in motion. As he swallowed up the last piece of the juicy fruit, his memory came back in another flash but they were hazy he couldn't make sense of it. He closed his eyes to lessen the headache brewing above his eyes rom the effect of the images that kept flashing in his mind. Then after a while, the flashes stopped.

Feeling much better, he composed himself, he explored and searched again until he saw a dagger in the protruding belly of a young soldier whose two arms were unskillfully amputated probably by a blunt ax It was an ancient Norseman crafted dagger with a black grip. It looked familiar to him. He pulled it off and a big grey maggot came out of the belly. He jumped back in disgust, he felt nauseated, he cleaned the dagger quickly and attached it to his waist sash. He assumed and concluded that he was the only survivor from the battle and he didn't know how it started but he perceived that it had begun for a long time. A streak of tear fell from his eyes to his cheeks, and he wiped it off.

He sought out to leave the field and he devised sensible plans he needed to head back to his home. A home he felt via instinct. Whether it existed or not he didn't know. He draped the satchel across his shoulder, it rested on his stomach and he left the battleground