He draws his swords.

Today, he is a lone fighter on the field.

Today, he faces the scaled creatures alone.

Today, he knows this is his final stand.

He knows he can’t win,

But it won’t stop him from making his death fun.

Blades shining in the sun,

Boots dancing across the courtyard,

Cloak drifting behind him,

Laughter in the wind.

He laughs.

He laughs at the stupidity of it all.

He laughs at the sadness in his heart.

He laughs at the weight in his chest.

He laughs at his loneliness.

He laughs at the pain of the claws,

ripping flesh into ribbons,

He laughs,

Until he draws breath no more.