"The recording"
I wish I could have been there, not for what happened but for what he said, in truth I have remembered every word he has said. From when he asked us to play a game till the realization of what he had done. After all that wondering here I was staring at him a ghost encrypted, trapped, doomed to relive and repeat for the rest of time. Seeing it enveloped me I could hear his yell and collapse, his blade skidding across the floor, the helicopters whizzing overhead. And soon I was there, seven again finally realizing that it was no game. He had been thrown to the floor by a shot, his sword flung from his grasp skidding on the marble. resting at my feet, I ran to give it to him but was stopped “No!” he exclaimed “I don’t need it” he gasped “Run!” I stood there petrified remembering his very words “I never leave my sword unless defeated.” those words from the past echoing in my head shattering the thought that this was a simple game. As I ran from the screen my consciences returned to now, and I watched what I had missed. He lied there waiting on the stairs grasping what little life he had left, as a portly man approached and in his thick accent he asked
“Is this how you wanted to die?” he continued while laughing “defending those children!?.” .
“I lived the way I wanted to live.” Was the ghost of my pasts reply .his words only encouraged the vulgar monster that stood over him as more laughter burst the monger.
“But this isn’t the way you wanted to die is it!?” He mocked.
Gasping now my savior simply replied
“Not entirely”. The war monger could not retain his laughter
“So, how did you want to die!” he Exclaimed. .Faster than I could see and the monger could react the crippled man leapt to his feet, and trust his knife into the gut of his enemy. To low to hear, but easily seen my friend whisper “like this”.
I flinched and so did my rescuer as a revolver sounded trying to end him, but he continued to stand. Again the revolver sounded protesting it’s masters death, and all the more resilient the nameless hero defiantly stood .Now the tables were turned and at his feet lied the monster in a mans skin. Having fulfilled his final task he hobbled off towards the statue behind him, collapsed in front of it and with his own blood he traced the words that had been nearly erased by the sands of time. “Only a life lived for others is worth living.”* He now leaned on it facing out to the courtyard, he then looked straight at me and saluted refusing to die until relived. I saluted in return and his hand fell to his side now unneeded, I trembled as his last breathe escaped through a sigh at the sunrise. The screen snowed and the recording played never again, it had waited for me and now it had completed its final task. I looked up to see the set of the scene that had just played, and I saw the words now re etched for all to see. But only one body was there, his, they had collected the body of a monstrosity, but no one bothered with a fallen hero.
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I had thought this up while listening Escala's "Children". When I listen to it I just see somthing similar to what I wrote, I bunch of children playing a game, only to realize it's not and run in what would be an awesome montage. Obviously the running part isn't there but, that's where it originated from.
