One Girl War

I was a few months old when I got my first chain mail. I wore that to war.

I was seven years old when I got my first chest plate. I wore that to war.

I was nine years old when I got my first pair of steel boots. I wore them to war.

I was ten years old when I got my first pair of metal legs. I wore them to war.

I was eleven years old when I got my first wound. And my second. And my third. I wore them all to war.

I was thirteen when I got my first gloves. I wore them to war.

It was that year when I got my first cut. It was on my arm. It bled and festered. I wore that to war.

I couldn’t find any arm guards. My cut turned green. I didn’t want to wear it to war.

I felt alone on the battlefield. I found a sword and shield. They were the enemy’s. I charged into war.

The sword was rusted and broke against armor. It splintered and cut my arm. The Cutter laughed.

I had two cuts on my arm. I thought the new one might scar. It bled. The Cutter grabbed my arm.

His gloves dug into my cuts. It hurt. He whispered to me.

I saw the man who had given me my armor. He had armor plates for my arms. I cursed him three times.

He looked sad. He wanted to help me. I did not let him.

Three arrows pierced through my back armor. I realize now how badly I bled.

I knelt on the battlefield. I cursed the Blacksmith. The Cutter laughed.

I felt alone.

I almost bled out.

A Nurse came beside me. She wasn’t really a nurse. But she touched my back and pulled the arrows out. She touched my cuts and they stopped festering.

I stared at her. She didn’t know what she was doing.

The Blacksmith came to me. He offered his hand. I took it.

I apologized to him. I wept. I begged him to forgive me. He kissed my forehead.

“It is finished,” he whispered. “You are forgiven.”

The Nurse stood beside me. She had cuts of her own in breaks of her armor. I did what I could.

My work was shoddy. But the Nurse wept with joy. We looked after each other.

The Blacksmith gave me a sword. It was small and light. I thanked him for it.

I escaped the Cutter. My arms healed.

I met an Enchantress while the Nurse was away. I stumbled.

I was sixteen when I took off my armor for the Enchantress. It was a mistake.

I narrowly missed twenty arrows.

I wanted to give the Enchantress some armor. She would not take any.

I fled.

I was almost seventeen when I found my armor again. I got my first pair of arm guards then, too. I wore it all to war.

I was seventeen when I got my first shield. It was large and heavy. I brought it to war.

I met the Actor by the Ruins. Her armor was broken. I guarded her until the Blacksmith came.

He mended the Actor’s armor. It shone. He gave her a new shield.

I was almost eighteen when I found my sword’s true power. I wrote words in the sky with it. I hope they mend someone’s wounds.

I learned the Nurse’s true name. It was Pastor. I call her P for short. I hope she doesn’t mind.

The Blacksmith gave me a helmet when I was eighteen. He said the helmet had my true name on it. I wore it to battle.

I am nineteen. People have started to call me by my true name.

Writer.

I only hope my sword can heal their wounds.