SAMPLE



"WHERE AM I?", he screamed into the purple haze.

But his ears heard no scream. Merely the gentle lap of water
against the oddly capsized vase in the pond.

The sweet cedar smell of his own scabbarded blade, laying before him, filled his nostrils - and teasingly suggested memories.

His father presenting him the sword.

The dojo, where he honed his skills.

The awful, glorious battlefields, filled with carnage and sweat and mud-turned-crimson - and legacies of honor.

The gratitude of his General. The demure beauty of the General's wife.

The stolen moment. Yes.

The "whoosh" of another's sword, behind him.

The blinding flash of light.

The sickening thud.

"Oh", he thought, "What a fascinating blend of color is my death sky."

Final Thoughts of a Severed Head
by KukriKhan