The iron bit digs into your mouth and you taste the copper of your own blood, a sharp, metallic tang that cuts through the stale dust of the trench, and you realize that the ground beneath you is no longer solid earth but a shifting, rotting mass of mud and shattered bone, and you are holding the hilt of the old sword, the one your brother gave you before he walked into the white fog of the war, and the hilt is slick with sweat and the leather wrapping is fraying, and you are screaming a sound that has no voice, a hollow, ragged thing that tears itself out of your lungs and dissipates into the grey, oppressive air, while the enemy, faceless and numerous, presses in on you from all sides, their spears clicking against your shield, a rhythmic, deadly percussion that matches the frantic beating of your heart, and you remember the weight of the sword in your hand, the heavy, balanced feel of it, the way it seemed to promise an end to the endless, grinding suffering of the campaign, and now you are wondering if the promise was a lie, if the sword is just another tool of the very machinery that is crushing you, and you swing, a wild, desperate arc that catches the air and finds no flesh, and the enemy laughs, a low, guttural sound that rises from the mass of them, and you see a face, a young boy’s face, no older than your own nephew, staring at you with eyes that are wide and empty, devoid of malice, devoid of anything but a terrible, vacant confusion, and you stop swinging, you lower the sword, and the tip of it touches the mud, and you say, I am not doing this, I am not part of this, and the boy tilts his head, as if to listen to a distant bell, and then he raises his spear, and you catch the shaft in your other hand, and the wood snaps with a sound like a dry branch breaking in winter, and you are pushed back, you are driven into the mud, and the world tilts, and the sky spins, and you see the stars, or what looks like stars, blinking through the smoke, and you think, this is how it ends, not with glory, not with a song, but with a snap of wood and a gasp of air and the cold, indifferent mud, and then you are back on your feet, or something like feet, and the boy is gone, replaced by another, and another, and the faces are all the same, all young, all empty, all waiting for you to break, and you keep swinging, you keep holding the sword, because if you let go, if you put it down, you will disappear, you will become just another name in a ledger, just another number in the count of the dead, and you do not want to be a number, you want to be a man, you want to be the brother who held the sword, and the sword is the only thing that makes you real, the only thing that anchors you to the world, and so you hold it, you grip it tighter, your fingers turning white, your knuckles cracking, and you feel the metal bite into your palm, and you welcome the pain, because the pain is yours, the pain is real, and the pain is the only thing that separates you from the void, and the battle rages on, and the hours stretch out, long and endless, and the sun rises and sets, and the moon climbs high, and you do not sleep, you do not eat, you do not drink, you only fight, and the sword grows heavier, not in weight, but in meaning, it becomes a monument to your failure, a testament to your inability to save the ones you loved, and you think of your brother, Thomas, and you think of his face, smiling, as he handed you the hilt, saying, keep it safe, keep it for me, and you think, I failed, I could not keep it safe, I could not keep you safe, and the guilt is a physical thing, a stone in your chest, a lead weight in your stomach, and you want to vomit, but you cannot, your body is too tired, too hollowed out, too consumed by the fight, and you swing again, and again, and again, and the enemy falls, and the mud darkens, and the air smells of iron and sweat and death, and you are alone, or you think you are alone, but then you hear a voice, a soft, quiet voice, that says, stop, and you look up, and you see a figure standing in the smoke, a woman, or a ghost, or a memory, and she is holding a mirror, a small, hand-held mirror, and she says, look, and you look into the glass, and you see your own face, gaunt, dirty, bleeding, and your eyes are empty, just like the boy’s, just like the others, and you see that you are the enemy, you see that you have become the very thing you fought against, you see that the sword is not a shield, it is a cage, and you see that your brother’s death was not a sacrifice, it was a waste, and the realization hits you like a physical blow, and you drop the sword, and it clatters on the ground, and the sound is final, absolute, and the world goes silent, and the smoke clears, and the enemy is gone, and you are standing in a field, a green, quiet field, and the sun is warm on your face, and the air is clean, and you are alive, and you are free, and you are empty, and you pick up the sword, not to fight, but to carry it, to carry the weight of it, to carry the weight of your brother, and you walk, you walk out of the field, and you walk into the town, and the people look at you, and they see the sword, and they see your face, and they step back, they cross the street, they close their doors, and you walk on, you walk through the streets, and the streets are quiet, and the houses are dark, and you are a stranger, you are a ghost, you are a legend, a distant legend, and you walk to the edge of the town, and you stop, and you look back, and you see the town, small and fragile, and you see the people, safe and sound, and you think, this is enough, this is all I can do, and you turn, and you walk away, and you do not look back, and you do not speak, and you do not fight, you just walk, and the sword is heavy in your hand, and the road is long, and the night is dark, and you are alone, and you are free, and you are broken, and you are whole, and you are you, and you are no one, and you are everyone, and you are nothing, and you are everything, and you walk, and you walk, and you walk.

You remember the taste of the water from the well, the cold, clear taste that reminded you of home, and you remember the sound of the church bells, the deep, resonant sound that marked the hours, and you remember the smell of the bread, the warm, yeasty smell that filled the bakery in the morning, and you remember the feel of the wool in your coat, the rough, scratchy feel that protected you from the cold, and you remember the touch of your brother’s hand, the warm, strong touch that held yours, and you remember the sound of his voice, the low, steady voice that told you everything would be alright, and you remember the look in his eyes, the bright, hopeful look that promised a future, and you remember the pain, the sharp, sudden pain that ripped through your chest when he fell, and you remember the silence, the terrible, absolute silence that followed, and you remember the sword, the cold, hard sword that you held in your hand, and you remember the fight, the endless, brutal fight that consumed you, and you remember the betrayal, the quiet, subtle betrayal of the men who led you, the men who sent you to die, the men who called it duty, the men who called it honor, and you remember the truth, the terrible, cold truth that there is no honor in death, there is no duty in murder, there is only pain, only loss, only emptiness, and you remember the mirror, the small, hand-held mirror that showed you who you were, and you remember the choice, the painful, difficult choice to put down the sword, and you remember the freedom, the strange, terrible freedom that came with the choice, and you remember the town, the small, quiet town that you left behind, and you remember the people, the safe, sound people that you could not save, and you remember the road, the long, dark road that you walked, and you remember the night, the cold, silent night that surrounded you, and you remember the dawn, the pale, grey dawn that broke over the horizon, and you remember the sun, the warm, golden sun that rose in the east, and you remember the light, the bright, clear light that illuminated the world, and you remember the life, the fragile, precious life that you carried with you, and you remember the love, the deep, fierce love that you held in your heart, and you remember the loss, the profound, aching loss that you bore, and you remember the sacrifice, the ultimate sacrifice that you made, and you remember the redemption, the quiet, subtle redemption that you found, and you remember the legend, the distant, fading legend that you became, and you remember the silence, the final, peaceful silence that enveloped you, and you remember the peace, the deep, enduring peace that settled within you, and you remember the end, the quiet, gentle end that came for you, and you remember the beginning, the bright, hopeful beginning that started it all, and you remember the middle, the long, difficult middle that connected them, and you remember the whole, the complete, whole story that you lived, and you remember the truth, the simple, profound truth that you are loved, and you remember the hope, the quiet, persistent hope that you held, and you remember the faith, the steady, unshakeable faith that you kept, and you remember the grace, the unexpected, unearned grace that you received, and you remember the mercy, the vast, encompassing mercy that you found, and you remember the peace, the eternal, everlasting peace that you entered, and you remember the rest, the deep, profound rest that you finally found, and you remember the sleep, the long, dreamless sleep that you finally knew, and you remember the waking, the slow, gentle waking that you finally experienced, and you remember the rising, the steady, upward rising that you finally achieved, and you remember the flying, the free, unbound flying that you finally accomplished, and you remember the falling, the soft, gentle falling that you finally embraced, and you remember the landing, the safe, secure landing that you finally made, and you remember the staying, the permanent, eternal staying that you finally found, and you remember the being, the pure, essential being that you finally were, and you remember the nothing, the absolute, total nothing that you finally became, and you remember the everything, the infinite, boundless everything that you finally were, and you remember the you, the true, real you that you finally knew, and you remember the me, the other, separate me that you finally accepted, and you remember the we, the united, joined we that you finally found, and you remember the they, the distant, separate they that you finally understood, and you remember the all, the complete, total all that you finally encompassed, and you remember the none, the absolute, total none that you finally released, and you remember the some, the partial, incomplete some that you finally held, and you remember the more, the extra, surplus more that you finally gained, and you remember the less, the reduced, diminished less that you finally lost, and you remember the same, the identical, unchanged same that you finally recognized, and you remember the different, the distinct, separate different that you finally accepted, and you remember the new, the fresh, novel new that you finally discovered, and you remember the old, the ancient, aged old that you finally honored, and you remember the past, the gone-by past that you finally let go, and you remember the future, the not-yet future that you finally embraced, and you remember the present, the here-and-now present that you finally lived, and you remember the moment, the fleeting, transient moment that you finally seized, and you remember the eternity, the timeless, ageless eternity that you finally entered, and you remember the time, the measurable, countable time that you finally transcended, and you remember the space, the vast, open space that you finally filled, and you remember the place, the specific, definite place that you finally found, and you remember the home, the safe, secure home that you finally reached, and you remember the road, the long, winding road that you finally walked, and you remember the journey, the complete, total journey that you finally made, and you remember the destination, the final, ultimate destination that you finally arrived at, and you remember the beginning, the bright, hopeful beginning that started it all, and you remember the end, the quiet, gentle end that came for you, and you remember the whole, the complete, whole story that you lived, and you remember the truth, the simple, profound truth that you are loved, and you remember the hope, the quiet, persistent hope that you held, and you remember the faith, the steady, unshakeable faith that you kept, and you remember the grace, the unexpected, unearned grace that you received, and you remember the mercy, the vast, encompassing mercy that you found, and you remember the peace, the eternal, everlasting peace that you entered, and you remember the rest, the deep, profound rest that you finally found, and you remember the sleep, the long, dreamless sleep that you finally knew, and you remember the waking, the slow, gentle waking that you finally experienced, and you remember the rising, the steady, upward rising that you finally achieved, and you remember the flying, the free, unbound flying that you finally accomplished, and you remember the falling, the soft, gentle falling that you finally embraced, and you remember the landing, the safe, secure landing that you finally made, and you remember the staying, the permanent, eternal staying that you finally found, and you remember the being, the pure, essential being that you finally were, and you remember the nothing, the absolute, total nothing that you finally became, and you remember the everything, the infinite, boundless everything that you finally were, and you remember the you, the true, real you that you finally knew, and you remember the me, the other, separate me that you finally accepted, and you remember the we, the united, joined we that you finally found, and you remember the they, the distant, separate they that you finally understood, and you remember the all, the complete, total all that you finally encompassed, and you remember the none, the absolute, total none that you finally released, and you remember the some, the partial, incomplete some that you finally held, and you remember the more, the extra, surplus more that you finally gained, and you remember the less, the reduced, diminished less that you finally lost, and you remember the same, the identical, unchanged same that you finally recognized, and you remember the different, the distinct, separate different that you finally accepted, and you remember the new, the fresh, novel new that you finally discovered, and you remember the old, the ancient, aged old that you finally honored, and you remember the past, the gone-by past that you finally let go, and you remember the future, the not-yet future that you finally embraced, and you remember the present, the here-and-now present that you finally lived, and you remember the moment, the fleeting, transient moment that you finally seized, and you remember the eternity, the timeless, ageless eternity that you finally entered, and you remember the time, the measurable, countable time that you finally transcended, and you remember the space, the vast, open space that you finally filled, and you remember the place, the specific, definite place that you finally found, and you remember the home, the safe, secure home that you finally reached, and you remember the road, the long, winding road that you finally walked, and you remember the journey, the complete, total journey that you finally made, and you remember the destination, the final, ultimate destination that you finally arrived at.