Sunday, May 26, 2013

100 Words a Day 281

The crowd’s wild shouting made the blood rush madly through his veins, giving him heady ecstasy as he raised his arms in triumph.

This was his first victory; the crowd called for the fallen man’s death. He knew the ritual well, having seen it many times.

He lifted his sword mechanically, lost in the haze of exultation.

He turned the blade over, steadied his grip, and plunged it into the man’s chest.

He watched the man’s life leave his eyes as the haze left his mind, replaced by shock, and the realization that he had lost a piece of himself.

No comments:

Post a Comment