A warrior's reflexes snap into action. A ghost? A game? No matter. Instincts ready to strike and destroy. My need to fight rages to be free, yet there's nothing in front of me to engage. I pace my perimeter in solitary reflection. Unsated violence vibrates beneath my skin.
Anger and frustration burn.
I hear hounds barking, but I can not fight the intangibles of life. I must simply survive as always. Give me an enemy I can defend against, a cause I can fight for. Not unwavering elements that wear at the soul. Not bad dreams and unexplainables.
Adrenaline floods my veins even as I'm told to stand down and put down my armor and weapons. I cut myself on my own blade even as I try not to strike out. Do I even have what it takes to survive any more? Do I even know how to defend myself? Do I know how to fight for those I love?
Confusion muddies a warrior's trained and expert responses. Who I am? Where is her place? What is her purpose? Are her instincts so very twisted that she can no longer see where enemies truly lie in wait? Where is the battleground I must defend?
I doubt myself and my nature as I hold a hungry blade in my bloody palm.
~K.
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