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Hours go by, and though I instinctively manage to block everything that comes at me, I am weakened with every man I kill.As the battle winds down, I finally have time to look around. The field is littered with bodies. Few are left standing. As I finish off one last soldier, I drop my helmet and suck in the cold air, that reeks of blood and sweat. Suddenly my world splits in half. A bright flash obscures my vision, and when I can finally see again, I find I am on my knees, with a spear that is covered with blood is protruding from my own chest.A man is pacing around me, sword drawn. He walks with an exaggerated limp. I wonder if I did that to him. He looked at me and spits on my face."Spartan bastard. Our people have never wronged you, yet your greed for slaughter drives you to war with an allied empire. You have won this battle, and the future of my city is dark. Before I die, I will have the satisfaction of seeing your head roll by my feet."He charges at me. His sword is raised, but. She tried to hide the disappointment in her voice as she spoke to him, keeping half an eye out for her waiter. They sat through the meal, the starter and the main course with Bob talking about work the whole time, twice she’d tried to divert the conversation but he’d always steered it back. She found herself drifting as he spoke, her eyes and mind seeking out the young waiter, who smiled at her whenever she caught his eye. When he served the main course she has made a point of touching his hand as if by mistake, Bob was lost in a story about the office as they once more made eye contact, the electricity clear between them. Just as the main course was being removed Bob’s phone rang, he apologized saying that he had to take the call and stood up and walked away from the table, that was the opportunity she’d been waiting for. When the waiter came back she asked him where the powder rooms were, hoping beyond hope that he could read her mind and know what she was really asking. When he.
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