There once was a soldier, who stood on a battlefield, alone, among dozens of enemy troops. At his feet lay fallen comrades, friends, family, people. Not a single one survived, soon, he would follow suit. But at that moment, he resolved to stand and harden his will, to live life to the fullest for the rest of his time in this world.
The sky was drowned out in a sea of clouds, rolling thunder drew over the atmosphere, and the winds screeched through the valley. Debris blew across faces, cutting into skin, and drawing blood from all who stood witness. The enemy weren’t faceless others though, no, the soldier acknowledged the humanity of his fellow people, all of whom had lives, wishes, thoughts, and dreams. They each bled for their own reasons, just as much a person as he was.
And so, he shifted his balance, widening his stance, and held his sword out in front of him. Fear threatened to shake his will, to dull the edge of his blade, but he suppressed it, pushed it away, where it would never interfere. His eyes narrowed, anticipating the moves of the enemy who surrounded him.
A foot twitched, and a blade flashed outwards towards his head. Bringing the hand upwards, and rotating the sword downwards, the swordsman deflected the blow. As the blades sung against each other, the soldier’s eyes crossed paths with his enemy’s. For a moment, a crossing of fates, of lives. This person across from him had experienced a wholly different set of events, which led to their position in this time.
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The next moment, the paths ran separate once again. The soldier flicked the blood off his blade, and looked onwards, past the now fallen body of his once enemy.
His arm bled from a shallow cut.
Body after body threw itself at him, each a human being, here at this time and place as a result of a confluence of events. Each so different, yet no different still. Each person who he struck down left him with a reminder of themselves, a cut here, a cut there.
He didn’t know when they stopped, but at one point the flow of lives did. He had also lost his sword somehow. The wind had frozen in place, the atmosphere thick as honey, yet so thin all the same. Up to his ankles in bodies, it was difficult to step forwards, not that he tried. No longer did he stand among the living. The plains whispered death, the mountains shed grief, the rivers sang mourning. And he hummed back.
The soldier let out a breath, he let his eyelids sink, and the valley whisked away the sounds of life.
It was once said by someone nothing remembers, “History takes place, and the world remembers”
No observer remained to tell the tale of the people who once existed here. Given enough time, even the world itself would forget. However, here once, an Immortal Moment took place. An Immortal Moment does not need to be remembered, it happened, and it will forever have happened.
An Immortal Moment.