AFROFuturism

Stafford Levon Battle

I rested, leaning on the granite column and wall

behind me.

Heavy Footsteps thundered in the

Royal Palace. Foreign voices shouted.

•HOARSE

•FEARFUL

•DESPERATE!

I had bathed, attended to my most grievous wounds, and fully re-armed. I was completely aware that the battle had not gone as we expected. By treachery and sorcery, we found ourselves outnumbered 1000 to one.

My warrior Brothers and Sisters stood defiantly and

only died after inflicting huge gaping wounds to the

northern demon beast and its fanatical minions. Blood ran

in rivers. Rivers became OCEANS!

The Enemy saw me, hesitated, bunching up on the stairs and shouting commands for more troops, perhaps, archers with deadly poisoned arrows.

My musket was armed but I depended more on sharp, molded metal to teach these dogs a lesson that they would take to their graves and all the way back to the icy glaciers where they were spawned.

The Shield I carried replaced the old and battered one that I had to abandon in the throat of an invader; he was one of their

esteemed, immortal, warrior gods.

Strange, that he had bleated like a common domestic goat when I slew him.

I laughed as the ENEMY surged forward.

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