The Last War

He was a survivor of the Last War, one of the few, and so when he spoke, the children listened. "There was a time when a dark magic was cast over the world. The people were in a trance, the leaders were addicted to greed and to power, and magic paper caused men to rape and pillage Our Great Mother." One of the children spoke up, "What is power?" The old man, though he was very wise, could not explain this to a child in any way that he or she would understand. There was no "power" anymore, for the people had learned to speak for themselves.


The children began asking more questions. "What is war?" asked the loudest one.
"Yes," began more of the children, "tell us about the Last War."


A great sadness came over the old man. He was very tired of war, so tired. Even though the memories were all that was left, the horror was always lurking in the shadows of his mind. "War," began the old man. Tears were streaming down his bearded face as the memories drew near. "War... There was a time when those who were possessed by power sent those with only heart to die for their greed. Legions of madmen walked over the dead in blood soaked boots. But there was hope, as long as there is humanity, there is always hope. When those who prayed for peace realized they vastly outnumbered those that prayed for death... It was only a matter of time."

The old man became sad again. "One should never seek to go to war, one should only seek to stop it. Yet, there was a time when the spell had not yet been broken, and the land was always in peril."


The old man stopped and stared off into the sky, as if listening to some inner voice. He did not want to speak to the children any more. It was good that they did not understand war, very good. He could only pray that they never would.