We had to fight. We both knew it. For our love and for the land.

We got ourselves ready. Prepped.
She gave me as a gift a throwing knife at the last moment.
I love her. She's always surprising me.

Then we attack. Stealthly in the night. We began with the back entrances and quickly split up.

It was a massacre of guards.
But the castle would soon come to it's knees!

I found a knight. Before he had a chance to react, *WOOSH!* my throwing knife embedded itself in his throat. I picked up my throwing knife and took his broad sword and fought the guard near by.

Within minutes we had both reached the inner courtyard.
Innocent workers scrambled away in fear. Everyone had been caught unaware.
After all, it was just me and my love that fought this war.

"FIGHT WITH US OR PREPARE TO DIE LIKE THE TRAITORS YOU ARE!" I yelled out as I continued to fight.

I heard a heart stopping scream from the other side of the courtyard.
Was it her? Had she fallen? I had no time to stop. Much less now. And the false lord was still near by.

I manage to climb a tree up to a window. I jumped in and sure enough there he was. He was prepared to fight. He began to speak. I cared not for his lies. I threw my knife at him, but he moved and it landed in the door behind him. I went at him with my sword. We fought tooth and nail until what seemed like a lucky break and I managed to cut his throat. As he lay bleeding and contorting on the ground, I raised my sword once again and cut through his neck. I then impaled his head on my sword through his eye and raised my sword out the window to show the world.

The villainy in our land has come to an end!



I woke up.
Looked around. My clock said it was 11am.
I remembered the loads of nothing I had planned for today.
*sigh*
I hate waking up to this.

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ONE ART

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.


By Elizabeth Bishop

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