"Don't falter," a coarsed voice reach out to me. A hand, ever soft and always dear, grabbed the end of the blade and with trembling force lifted my sword to her blood-caked neck.
My gaze averted from the hilt of the sword I was wielding down the guard to the length of the blade and unto the end of the tip. Beyond it was the woman who loved me all her life and I, at that moment, do not know if my love for her is comparable.
"This is it, cap-," once more the coarse voice spoke. But before he could finish her sentence a gush of blood spewed out of her lips. The lips I always once wanted mine own touch.
I shouted in anger. I felt myself pitiful and regretting. After all that have happened, I could not save her. My grip was trembling. It was a point blank thrust. I would not miss. My eyes saw the void and not even the figure of the woman whom ever love was there. As I found enough strength in me to push it through, I don't know how and what happened but she was hugging me.
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