One Girl War<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I was a few months old when I got my first chain mail. I wore that to war.<\/p>\n
I was seven years old when I got my first chest plate. I wore that to war.<\/p>\n
I was nine years old when I got my first pair of steel boots. I wore them to war.<\/p>\n
I was ten years old when I got my first pair of metal legs. I wore them to war.<\/p>\n
I was eleven years old when I got my first wound. And my second. And my third. I wore them all to war.<\/p>\n
I was thirteen when I got my first gloves. I wore them to war.<\/p>\n
It was that year when I got my first cut. It was on my arm. It bled and festered. I wore that to war.<\/p>\n
I couldn\u2019t find any arm guards. My cut turned green. I didn\u2019t want to wear it to war.<\/p>\n
I felt alone on the battlefield. I found a sword and shield. They were the enemy\u2019s. I charged into war.<\/p>\n
The sword was rusted and broke against armor. It splintered and cut my arm. The Cutter laughed.<\/p>\n
I had two cuts on my arm. I thought the new one might scar. It bled. The Cutter grabbed my arm.<\/p>\n
His gloves dug into my cuts. It hurt. He whispered to me.<\/p>\n
I saw the man who had given me my armor. He had armor plates for my arms. I cursed him three times.<\/p>\n
He looked sad. He wanted to help me. I did not let him.<\/p>\n
Three arrows pierced through my back armor. I realize now how badly I bled.<\/p>\n
I knelt on the battlefield. I cursed the Blacksmith. The Cutter laughed.<\/p>\n
I felt alone.<\/p>\n
I almost bled out.<\/p>\n
A Nurse came beside me. She wasn\u2019t really a nurse. But she touched my back and pulled the arrows out. She touched my cuts and they stopped festering.<\/p>\n
I stared at her. She didn\u2019t know what she was doing.<\/p>\n
The Blacksmith came to me. He offered his hand. I took it.<\/p>\n
I apologized to him. I wept. I begged him to forgive me. He kissed my forehead.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is finished,\u201d he whispered. \u201cYou are forgiven.\u201d<\/p>\n
The Nurse stood beside me. She had cuts of her own in breaks of her armor. I did what I could.<\/p>\n
My work was shoddy. But the Nurse wept with joy. We looked after each other.<\/p>\n
The Blacksmith gave me a sword. It was small and light. I thanked him for it.<\/p>\n
I escaped the Cutter. My arms healed.<\/p>\n
I met an Enchantress while the Nurse was away. I stumbled.<\/p>\n
I was sixteen when I took off my armor for the Enchantress. It was a mistake.<\/p>\n
I narrowly missed twenty arrows.<\/p>\n
I wanted to give the Enchantress some armor. She would not take any.<\/p>\n
I fled.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
I was seventeen when I got my first shield. It was large and heavy. I brought it to war.<\/p>\n
I met the Actor by the Ruins. Her armor was broken. I guarded her until the Blacksmith came.<\/p>\n
He mended the Actor\u2019s armor. It shone. He gave her a new shield.<\/p>\n
I was almost eighteen when I found my sword\u2019s true power. I wrote words in the sky with it. I hope they mend someone\u2019s wounds.<\/p>\n
I learned the Nurse\u2019s true name. It was Pastor. I call her P for short. I hope she doesn\u2019t mind.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
I am nineteen. People have started to call me by my true name.<\/p>\n
Writer.<\/p>\n
I only hope my sword can heal their wounds.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[5],"tags":[90,72,89,91,12,87,88,68,92,60],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p27tjX-82","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/498"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=498"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/498\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":570,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/498\/revisions\/570"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=498"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=498"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=498"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}