I was dying. Everywhere aroundme men and women lay still or groaning as they succumbed to theirwounds. My wounds were not as grievous as some, yet still an arrow tothe kidney and a blow from a sword that had shattered my collarboneand left my right arm useless were only two of numerous I hadsuffered. Never in all my years of being here on this odd planet, sofar from earth had I thought that it would actually claim my life.

My death and the deaths ofthousands were all because of my pride and arrogance. When I hadfirst arrived here, two decades ago, I had been happy with livingaway from the inhabitant of the planet. They were strange and despitebeing humanoid, I found no comfort with them. War was what they livedfor, and war was something I had tired of in Europe. Some of them didnot like war, but they were few and scattered as I came to learn.

While I had no desire to be aswarlike as the others, after two years alone I fell in love with anative woman who was an outcast. She accepted me for who I was and wequickly began living together and enjoying each others company. Dueto enhanced anatomy, after one night lying with her, he becamepregnant and bore us a son the following year. Our lives were happyor so we thought for a time.

Happiness never lasts, and oursbroke as war came to the region we lived in. After two skirmisheswith marauding soldiers we had no other choice but to relocate to oneof the walled cities the native called home. There I thought we couldfinally live in peace, but I was wrong. I was drafted into theirmilitary when my wife boasted of my skill with a blade to the wivesof military officers.

Forced to do something Idespised but was an expert in, I made a name for myself. Within adecade I was the commander of the armed forces that were stationed inthe city my family and I had first come to. By then my son had comeof age and I had begun training him in the ways of war. I thoughtthat perhaps if he learned how dangerous it was he would not want tofight.

Losing a son is the worst fateimaginable for a father and after eight years together I did. He fellyesterday when a warhammer crushed his skull. All those years oftraining and telling him to stay in the rear where he can escape andlive to fight another day had come to nothing. It was his mother'sblood that had driven him to the front lines, where he had cleavedarmor and swords until the brute of a man had killed him with asingle blow.

Thebrute had not lived much longer, but the death of my son had changedthe course of the battle.

Menwho had been veterans fell to untrained youths as their spirits brokewith the death of my son.

Beforelong my army was collapsing around me and all I could do was watch.

It did not take long for thesurvivors to route and the enemy soldiers to come pouring in to thecamp. Everyone fought to stop the tide, but many were no match forthe frenzied soldiers who had survived the slaughter of thebattlefields. Many fell before my eyes and despite my best effortswithin the hour only a handful of us were left.

My wife fell shortly thereafter,two arrows protruding from her side. Her end had come slowly,claiming he as she laid there on the hard packed dirt, her life bloodpouring out around her. I had no time for sorrow, no time to regretas the enemy continued to press forward. Instead I had fought untilevery last one of them had fallen from a stroke of my blade.

Now I lay here, beside mybeloved wife. Her end came while I was out on the field, and all Ihave left to look at is her body, small and fragile in death. I neverwanted any of this, not for her, not for me, not for any of the poorbastards lying around me friend or foe. Perhaps now the people of theplanet will consider peace over war, if this is to be the true costof their pettyness.