Wiet

Legacy, a place of nothingness. For two hundred and fifty years it had been nothing but home to a few people, but was it really worth fighting for? Its once green land and hills had been a harsh brown colour for years. The blades of dead grass like needles against bare skin, while it was almost impossible to find a single trace of water for miles around.
Yet there Wiet stood, surrounded by hundreds of other men, in honor and defense of their country. For months this had been going on with blood shed from both sides. The women and children hid fearfully within the town, while the barracks would become empty of both men and weapons each day. The untrained and unskilled arches stood at the back of the crowd of warriors, their arrows ready to be fired at any time.
Wiet stood in the middle of the crowd. There he stood with a standard blacksmiths sword and shield in each hand. In the past fifteen minutes he had found it hard to walk with the weight of the chain mail protecting his upper body. Its links clinked and clunked together with his ever step.
The rich people sat upon their horses in the front of the crowd showing off to all of those who where lower then themselves, people like Wiet.
Wiet looked around frantically, his heart beating faster with every minute. The battle was about to begin.
The men all around him looked nervous. He watched as one man quickly and yet silently said a prayer. Wiets eyes darted to yet another man. This one was looking at his sword as if he wished to jam it through his own body, just to finish it all off already.
“Ya’ll ok there brotha?” asked a guy standing next to him. He looked as if he were in his mid thirties. His red hair was poking out from beneath his helmet in tuffs. “Ya’ll lookin’ a bit pale there for a second”
Wiet shook his head. “Just nervous”
The red headed man nodded as if to show his understanding. That was when Wiet heard it though, a horn off in the distance. In that moment he knew that the battle for Legacy had finally commenced.
Wiet tightened his grip on his sword and tensed the muscles in his body. He had never wielded a sword before and found it hard just to keep it held upright.
Warriors from within the crowd began to run forward, one of which knocked Wiet down to the ground. The dead grass poked through parts of his chain mail while other parts dug into the skin on his face making deep cuts but not yet deep enough to have bled.
He struggled to get up as people trampled over his body as he wasn’t even there. All of a sudden he felt a slight tug near the top of his chain mail, then came a big yank.
“Wat ya’ll doin’ wayz downs there?” asked the red headed man from before as he pulled Wiet up off of the ground and onto his feet.
Wiet shrugged his shoulders and the red headed man grinned. “Let us go kill the dir’y bastards” he said.
Wiet nodded his head but the red headed man was gone before he could see. Wiet just stood there, sword and shield in hands, looking dumb struck. He watched as man after man fell to the ground. He turned his attention to the religious man (the one who had said the prayer) as he stabbed his sword into his opponents gut. He pulled it out slowly with the indescribable sound of the mans insides being wrenched. Blood spattered in numerous places, some of it landing on Wiet. Unfortunately for the religious man he was attacked from behind. His head taken straight off his shoulders with one clean swipe from his opponent’s sword. His body fell to the ground and began to twitch around like live wires. Blood spattered out skyward from his wound as his head lolled around on the ground. His eyes where still open and turned up so that his pupils where no longer visible.
Wiet felt like throwing up, but turned away in pure disgust. As he did he saw the body of the suicidal man (who had been gazing at his sword before hand) at his feet. Wiet screamed and took a step backwards almost tripping over the red headed man who was fighting his opponent with ease.
“Glad to see ya among the liven’” he said greeting him as he sliced of his opponents arm. His opponent screamed in pain and fell to the ground as the red headed man finished him off. “More than I can say for that otha fella”
Wiet nodded as another warriors tried to take on the red headed man.
“Ya’ll got yourself a name there kid?” he asked.
Wiet hesitated as first but found that he had nothing to lose. “Wiet Geoffrey”
The red headed man nodded. “The names Michael”
People where dying left right and center now. Corpses lined the ground like an endless flood while blood was spattered everywhere. Most of the arches were now dead, while only few survived. The rich people were still among the living as they trampled over corpses and live bodies. Skulls lay crushed and caved in, most still attached to their rightful bodies.
“Don’t you think you should stop for a while Michael?” asked Wiet
“M-I-C-H-E-L” he said “Not Michael. Spelt he same said differently, and I’ll stop when all of those god dam’ed bastards are six feet unda” Wiet gulped as Michael sliced his opponents’ ear off. “Ya’ll didn’t need that any way” he said
His opponent dropped his sword and put his hands to where his ear used to be. “Give mercy!” he cried. “I’m only fifteen years old; I have a life to live”
Michael grinned. “Well then ya’ll betta tho’t of that before ya’ll started fighten’” With that he gutted him.
Wiet turned away in disgust, Michael was far more blood thirsty than he.
“Ya’ll wanna join in there kid or ya just wanna s’and and watch?”
In that moment time seemed to freeze. A warrior on horse back stabbed Michael brining him to his knees, he died almost instantly.
Wiet looked around. The men from his country were retreating. Now he stood alone.
The warrior on horse back looked at him harshly. “Give up” he said in a strong British accent. “There is no hope for you left”
Wiet dropped his sword and was seized almost instantly by a pair of guards. As soon as they grabbed hold of him his sword only just reached the ground, piercing the leg of Michael.



The next hour or so seemed like a blur to Wiet. The guards had taken him back to their land and thrown him into the dungeon. For a few minutes now he had been watching the dripping water from the hole in the roof, its rhythm keeping constant. The echo of the dungeon sent shivers up his spine while his body was aching all the time. The dungeon was stone cold, cold enough to freeze your toes, but Wiet made no effort to stay warm. A skeleton half decomposed lay cuffed to the wall rotting away while flies covered the place where his left eye had been.
Wiet listened as he head footsteps echoing in the dungeon, getting louder and louder. They’re coming for me he thought. They’re going to torture me. Wiet watched eyes wide, mouth dry, as the guards walked past his cell and over to the one across from him. The guards walked in and mumbled something to the prisoner.
“No!” he cried. “One more day; just one more day!”
The guards grabbed both of his arms and dragged him out screaming. Wiet covered his ears with both of his hands until the screaming seemed too distant to hear.
“You’re looking a little distraught there” said a guard as he came over to Wiets cell. “You okay?”
Wiet nodded his head. “Yeah, thanks”
The guard extended his hand out into Wiets cell. “I’m Olivera”
Wiet looked as his hand with caution and then shook it. “Wiet Geoffrey”
Olivera smiled. “Its sad to see people like you in here, makes me feel like we shouldn’t even be fighting this war. I’ll be out there next week though”
Wiet looked confused as a question (one that he had not been intending on finding out) slipped out of his mouth. “What are they going to do to me?”
Olivera sighed. “There’s been talk of execution for those of which oppose us” he said. “I just hope that they change their minds”
Wiet nodded his head.
“Well I should finish my rounds now” said Olivera. “I’ve got to get home to my little girl”
“How old?” asked Wiet
“Eight”
“What’s her name?”
“Elisabeth”
“You call her Lizzie?”
Olivera shook his head. “No, she hates that name”
Wiet nodded his head. “My mums name was Elizabeth, I never knew her though”
Olivera looked at him sympathetically. “We’ll talk more tomorrow”



The next day came quickly and yet seemed to drag itself along painfully. The guards patrolled through the dungeon every half an hour while the food was scares. As noon came so did Olivera and that was when things really started to move along.
“Tell me more about you mother, Elizabeth” said Olivera
Wiet sighed and tried to recall on what he knew. “She died roughly a few hours after giving birth to me; she was too weak to carry on.
Olivera nodded. “I’m sorry” he said
Wiet smiled weakly. “It doesn’t bother me anymore”
There silence between the two of them as the dungeon halls echoed.
“So what about that daughter of yours, Elizabeth. What’s she like?”
Olivera shrugged and smiled. “She’s eight and just like any other kid out there I suppose”
“You have a wife then?”
Olivera’s smiled faded. “She died last week”
In that moment Wiet saw what the world was really like. People fought for what they wanted because of their pride. People killed things out of fear and for the rush of adrenalin that coursed through their veins. Everything happens for a reason he thought. And what ever will be, will be.

“So what will happen to Elizabeth if you don’t come back?”
Olivera looked at him long and hard as if to try and kill him almost instantly. “Mark my works” he said. “I will be back for my little girl”
“Hey” came a voice. “Olivera, what are you doing over there?”
Olivera turned around to face another guard and then turned back to Wiet. “Caught” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow kid”



Wiet didn’t get much sleep that night and what he did was mortifying.



He was back on the battle field, surrounded by corpses.
“Hello” he called “Hello!”
“Ya’ll shouldn’t do that kid”
Wiet turned around and saw Michaels body stand up. Blood stained some of the links in his chain mail. He began to limp towards Wiet. “Ya’ll wake up the dead hollerin’ like that”
Wiets eyes bulged as he took a step back and landed on the ground atop of another corpse. “You can’t be alive” he exclaimed. “I saw you get killed”
“An’ a lot o’ help that id. I was tellin’ ya’ll to get in and help so wat do ya’ll do, s’and there and watch me get killed”
Wiet watched mortified as corpse after corpse got to its feet. Even the headless corpses managed to stand up.
“Ya’ll a traitor” said Michael. “And ya’ll know wat happens to ‘em”
“No!” cried Wiet. “I didn’t mean it”