Doue

I kneel in the wet dirt beside your prone form, and you gasp for breath as I touch your face. Your eyes flutter, and you blink at me. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. I hush you, and I rip my shirt to try and bandage the wound. I know it is fatal, and I know you know it is fatal, but it does not stop me from trying. I know that I am responsible, and I can’t help the tears that fall from my eyes.

I do not know what started the fight. If it was you or me, I will never know, but I relive the memories as I kneel by your side.

I cannot tell what you are about to do. You draw your blade and I draw mine in turn. Whatever you’re planning, I don’t want to be caught unprepared. I stare into your eyes, and they frighten me. I see none of the friend I once knew there. This girl is new, different. I don’t know what you think as you look at me, because your face is unreadable.

Now we’re facing each other, and I don’t know what to do. I stand quietly, afraid to strike lest I hurt you. You have no such fears. You lunge at me, and I have no choice but to bring my sword up into a block position. I spin around so that your sword tip only barely grazes my left shoulder, and then I spin back to face you again, sword up.

It is raining, and the ground is getting slicker as the dirt turns to mud. Our shoes slip in the mud, but we fight on. Our blades meet again with a loud clang, and I look at you. Your face is strained in a look of concentration, and I can only guess that mine is as well. You thrust at me and I block you, skidding backwards a little in the mud. You grin at me, and I glower back. I don’t know what to feel. I am fighting with my best friend, who seriously intends to do me harm. What am I to do, I ask myself as I thrust and block another of your strikes.

Looking back as I kneel here in the mud by your side, I wish that you had been wearing the kind of shoes I ware. The soles of your shoes are slicker than mine, and they have no traction. I had the upper hand in the battle because of it, but I held back. I don’t know about you, but I never wanted to kill you, never intended to kill you as you intended to kill me.

You try to get in under my guard. I bring my sword down, striking the top of your head hard with the flat of my blade. You stumble backwards, straightening, and then dart in for another blow. I skid backwards, turning as I do to avoid your vicious slash. I bring my sword up to parry, and you come forward, thinking you have won.

But you got too cocky, friend. You got too cocky, and that is why the rain is soaking through my clothes and the mud dirties them as I kneel by your side and try to keep your hair out of your face.

You jump toward me, and I am not expecting you to do it. Your feet leave the ground and you hurtle toward me. It is an accident that my sword is where it is. You cannot cut your leap short, but I know you see what is going to occur. I stare at you for a frozen fraction of a second, and my eyes meet yours. Your eyes plead with me to save you, and I can see horror and fear and realization clamoring to be the foremost emotion in your gaze. I do not know what the realization is for. Perhaps you realize what will happen. Maybe you realize what you have been doing. There is no time for me to lower my blade. You scream as the sword pierces your chest, barely below your heart. The wound is fatal, and I know this as you slump to the ground. I can’t bring myself to walk away. I drop to my knees by your side, brushing your hair from your face.

Your hand lifts weakly, trying to push mine away. You were always stubborn, but you can’t resist now. You are too weak, and your strength pours from the fatal wound I inflicted. I open my mouth, trying to speak, but I close it again when I realize that I do not know what to say. I would apologize, but I do not know what to apologize for. I would plead, but I don’t know what I would plead for. Perhaps for you to live, or for you to forgive me. But I close my mouth, and whatever words jostle to be free are left unspoken.

I kneel in the wet dirt beside your prone form, and you gasp for breath as I touch your face. Your eyes flutter, and you blink at me. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. I hush you, and I rip my shirt to try and bandage the wound. I know it is fatal, and I know you know it is fatal, but it does not stop me from trying. I know that I am responsible, and I can’t help the tears that fall from my eyes.

You open your mouth one more time, but there is no need to hush you this time. You sigh, but you do not inhale again. You are dead. I look down at you as I sit by your side, and I close your eyes. Your face is unreadable, even now. I don’t know what I feel. I am in shock, perhaps, but I cannot be sure. I remain there for a long time, but I do not know just how long.

No words were spoken in those final moments, just before your last breath fled you. But when I looked into your eyes the last time, I saw the message you meant to speak aloud but did not have the strength to utter. When I fought you, I knew I didn’t want to kill you. I don’t know what you thought, friend, because you were, as always, expressionless. But in your eyes, just before your spirit was freed from your body, I saw the message that I’d always longed to see. I regard you as more than a friend, and have done so for a long time. In your eyes, I saw that you thought the same.

I pull myself to my feet and turn. I throw a glance over my shoulder at you as I walk away. I will not see you again in this life, but perhaps in the next. Even though you are gone, you will not be forgotten. Goodbye, Usera, my Doue.

Doue-Yalei

A/N: There are a couple things I have to explain. First of all, the word doue. Doue (Dow-ih) is a prefix to someone’s name (Ex: the last line “Doue-Yalei”, Yalei being the girl who’s speaking during this story.) doue means sister, but not a blood relative. Like sisters of the heart, or something: someone who has no blood ties to you. Like if someone says “we’re as close as sisters.”…I think that’s it, except for one thing: Just in case anyone was confused, the two girls this story is about are Usera and Yalei. As you probably guessed, Usera is the one who got killed, and yalei is the narrator. This could be a letter, it could be someone speaking, it’s really up to you. The only thing is that whatever it is, it’s addressed to Usera, but that’s it. …That’s all I have to say, so I’ll stop rambling. Thanks for reading!