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The Warrior Princess




The lighted sign said walk. So walk she did to reach only a local cabal. She a little story in among the rest, on the way to a section where small items could be bought for personal use. Necessary items so they say, maybe a cleansing agent or softener for the skin just to make the day go a little easier.

With one foot out and the other in, she hobbled over the curb to the pavement below that had yellow lines guiding her way. The lights of red held back the assaulting cars and it was in the leading car watching, poised to go with a release of my foot, I watched as each step she made seemed an effort I may never know.

What device sent forth such anguishing repercussions into the legs and hips of this poor woman that brought her gate to such a slow procession. As I watched her steady solemn march to the local store, I wondered. Only to live without a fear of being touched by angry explosive hate was all this woman had really desired?

I saw no opinion, no battle, just a struggle to go along the path of her fate. She was a quiet, gentle, harmless afcan born woman now living in a frozen land far away. This canadian gave no indication of what was right or wrong, only her lonely fetter demonstrated how the brave must stand alone. The dead have already sighed their last farewell. The reaper lies waiting to steal more goodness away and so I prayed that we know the truth. When war begins no body wins.



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