Grab a stick and pretend it's a sword. Up on top of the hill is a castle and we have to storm it to save the girl/boy from the dragon/witch/demon. It's gonna be dangerous and we'll probably die. But if we work together and believe in ourselves, we might just make it.
You go left; I'll go right. Together, remember. Don't go charging forward. It'll eat us one by one if we're foolish. We gotta use intelligence and cunning to vanquish this foe, along with power and might.
Feel the hero inside of you ignite. The whole world needs you now. Your feet are lighter than air. Trumpets sound in your ears. You can feel the sun and wind on your face.
Then you see a dark writhing mass up ahead in the trees. You smell smoke and hear screaming. It's worse than you ever believed. It's rising, rising, rising like a wave, a tsunami bearing down on you, the Bringer of Death.
But you hear your friend yelling your name and feel the stick in your hand, nay, not the stick but the sword, the sword of your ancestors passed down from generation to generation. Ten thousand years and ten thousand more have led you to this point and you feel alive and it's good.
No comments:
Post a Comment