This is the story of a sword. A true story and a good story. My story. Blood-and-death. That was the way to describe it. It was only one way, for if blood comes from someone’s body it effectively means death. There were no doctors in those days and I was the cause of it all; the cause of all the poppies growing and the cause of hell and death.
Cut, slash, bang, clang! The noise was deafening. I hadn’t lost a battle yet, but there is a first time for everything. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t face it. One last effort. Yes! My opponent dead, victory was ours! No time to celebrate, there were more coming. They just kept on coming, on and on. My master was getting exhausted. Suddenly out of nowhere arrows came flying. In every direction, swords were also thrown. They were aimed at my master. I threw myself towards the arrows and, using my skill to move in the air, with the power from Zeus I let all the other weapons have the skill to move by themselves. Unfortunately this meant that my opponents’ swords also could move. Clangs were heard everywhere, as metal met metal. Then there was only deathly silence.
I have grieved for my master ever since that day. The death day I call it. The day on which the Saxons turned on my master. Now I am in a museum, in the Pitt Rivers in Oxford. I live a peaceful life and will not see or meet war again. I will live happily ever after.
THE END
But wait, what is this? What is happening? Is someone coming in the night? Help! A burglar is stealing me! Noooooooo!
10 HOURS LATER
Now I know my true purpose in life: to cut cheese. This really is ‘THE END’.
by Daniel Varney
