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Prisoner of War
Introduction

Introduction

20 years ago

Betrayal.  Funny how bad the stuff tastes, really, it’s like bitter spoiled dust that gets rammed down your throat with a closed fist.  Your whole body just wants to collapse from the sudden weakness that is accompanied by the understanding of what is happening.  Of course, after this happens then comes the anger, that blinding searing fury that consumes you at the memory of at what has been done to you.  Strength of almost godlike proportion floods those very limbs that almost failed you just a moment before.  You can't use that strength though because now it’s your own body that is betraying you then.  Holding you and keeping you fastened to the ground.  All you can do is watch, watch as your very world and life are destroyed before your eyes.

I've heard all my life; in the stories from wizards, wise men, witches, and others, that in the last moment of your life, your past flashes before your eyes.  That's all wrong, it's a choice.  A conscious choice you make to revisit those hurts that scarred your immortal soul, to see your life flowing before you for both your heart and soul to watch. To look back and see what caused you to be here, in the now, at this ending moment. I wonder as the images start to flash before my eyes… do we have time to examine every choice and possible outcome?  To see where that “what if” could've taken us or am I merely a silent witness to this travesty called my life.

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I discover, as the blood rage fills the scope of my vision, as everything goes black from a mad fury; that I can only choose to watch the actions and events that brought me to this betrayal. Watch and scream in a hopeless rage-filled pain from what I see. Never knowing what could have been.

I was only six. A lot of the years before and after that point in time tend to fade and blur. This moment, however, is crystalline in my perception, frozen forever in eternity’s eye, and in my soul. My hair was a brownish color laced with hints of gold. The sun and experiences had yet to have bleached it white as fine platinum. My skin was tan, even then, dark color of the Earth, unscarred and unmarred by man or monster. There at that moment my eyes were still a murky green, almost as if my innocence was acting as a sort of veil between my soul and the rest of the world. A veil that would be lifted to reveal emerald eyes flecked with silver dust.

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