A Warriors Spirit

This is a short tale of how we connect to our ancestors.

The autumn breeze lifts and drops the tattered cloth on his body. His flowing hair lightly sways with each passing gust. A bead of sweat builds upon his brow only to break away and fall upon the earth. His once mighty sword, now broken in two, drops from his hand and claims rest at his feet. With his strength now greatly diminished he finds he no longer has the willpower to stand. Dropping to one knee, he manages to keep his gaze fixed straight ahead. The sun high above burning with great fury blocks out the features of the man standing before him.
  The shadowy figure does not need to speak as his intent is already understood. Arms raised overhead, a white light shines bright off of the reflective metal of his sword. With the sudden rush of wind whistling by he feels the warmth of his body begin to leave him. No, he is not scared. He looks towards the heavens as the blue sky gives way to twilight. He knows he no longer needs to fight. A lifetime of struggle and anguish, the violence and the pain, it all fades away. At last the endless war has come to pass as serenity finally washes over him.
 A true warrior does not fear death. As the way of the samurai and his ancestors before him, he does not fear the end. He makes his peace and he embraces eternity. His life leaves him but his spirit continues on. Rising high above the battlefield as death takes hold of the many. The spirit cares not of the doings of this world. Its only purpose is to renew life once lost.
 From a whisper in the night to the howling of the winter's wind. One may close their eyes for the final time, only to reopen them new again. Memories of past lives will linger on but the living are unable to recollect. It happens only when the final moment occurs, when lifes embers cool. Only then will the memories of a thousand lifetimes come flooding back, much like the waves breaking deep at sea. As each memory passes by, it breaks away and recycles into something new. For a man may live a thousand lives, but he only will be known for one.

He once was a proud warrior, a husband, and a father. Now he will be but just a memory. He will be missed and his actions will never be forgotten. He closes his eyes for the final time. As everything fades to black the grip of infinity takes hold. Even though life's flame is extinguished the spirit continues on.

  She opens her eyes but the light is so blinding she can barely see. The room is loud and she can’t understand the world around her. Her body naked, she has been forced from her home. She lived in a world so calm but now she is surrounded by chaos. Everything is new and she cannot comprehend what is happening. A large man picks her up but she makes no noise. She struggles for breath and it's getting hard for her to stay awake. She hears voices trailing off as she begins to fade away. A quiet blackness surrounds her but she feels as if she does not yet belong to it.
  Visions of ferocity flash across her eyes. Her adrenaline spikes and her heart beats like that of a battle drum. She does not fear death but she is not yet ready to embrace it. As if it were the will of past lives lived she refuses to give in.
  Images of a fierce battlefield continue to play in her mind. She is peering through the eyes of a man who perished centuries ago. The fight in him is fierce and she feels what he feels. He refuses to surrender as she does now. He is stubborn. Even in the face of defeat he will not go down. No matter how bravely he fights though he simply cannot win. He is outmatched and outnumbered yet he does not give up fighting until the very end.
  As he lays upon the ground gazing into the twilight, he begins to close his eyes. A quiet blackness surrounds him as he fades away. He has lived a long life and now embraces eternity. He never gave up. He just accepted his place in the universe. Even though his memories may be lost in time, a part of him is passed on. His unwillingness to give up.  

  An infant fighting for her life takes her first breath. She breathes in hard, coming back into the light as she exhales. She is a warrior as were her ancestors before her. She has lived a thousand lifetimes. Yet she will only remember one. It is her instinct to fight. It is the re-ignition of a centuries old fire once extinguished on a vast battlefield. It is that fire that now burns so furiously within her that gives her strength. The warriors spirit is much too strong for her to ignore. She is unable to give up. Her memories are yet to be made. She will live. She will create. Her memories need to be passed down. Her warriors spirit needs to one day pass on to another.
 A man may die but his spirit will survive. Memories will be passed down as instinct. The blood of warriors flow through us all. We mustn't be scared to embrace eternity as it is inevitable. We will die, but a part of us will forever live on.

Author's Note

This is a loose style of writing and is meant to flow in a fluid manner. It is meant to be open to interpretation.