Too Little, Too Late
~inspired by “Too Little, Too Late” by Laufey~
The moon caught the rays of her auburn hair perfectly. Effortlessly, she swung her sword in an arc, bringing it to clash with her brother’s sword. He parried, and she stepped back, laughing, before ducking an attack from her brother. They are so young and naive.
Sure, those were just wooden swords, and they were just playfighting, but one day, they’ll be soldiers in an actual war where their blood will be spilled, their friends slaughtered, and their innocence stripped from them as mercilessly as the act of war itself.
The day came too soon.
The men came too fast. Their words were swift, eyes unseeing, hearts numb.
She had begged him not to go. “Take me instead,” she pleaded, but the men didn’t even spare her a glance before they dragged her brother away. Off, into the night.
It almost killed me
She wasn’t going to let him go that easily. She did the only thing she could think of: join the war herself and find her brother. She chopped her hair off, wrapped herself in bundles of clothing, and picked up her sword again, sparing with the win. No one but the moonless night to keep her company.
She trained, not for herself, but for her brother. She would find him, she pledged, and they would both survive the war.
But miles away, a camp was invaded, half the soldiers slaughtered, and the other half taken as prisoners, beaten and tortured until they pledged to fight for the side that was not their own. Treason, you might call it. But was forced treason really punishable?
She thought she was ready, so she enlisted herself.
She was not ready.
I should’ve chased
you ‘cross every single state
She couldn’t find him. She survived the battles, slaughtered her way to survival, and spilled enough blood to dye the ground crimson.
But he was not there. Not at the camps she returned to after each battle, not on the battlefield. So she fought harder. She had vowed to find him, and if she had to kill another hundred—another thousand—to find him, she would.
I didn’t need the reminder of things I’ve done wrong
She found him, yes, but not on the right side of war. What was he doing, standing on the opposite side of the field? He wasn’t going to fight her, after all this time she spent looking for him, was he? She tried to meet his eyes, but he didn’t even look at her. Right. She was a man. He wouldn’t know who she was anyway.
Nevertheless, she tried to find him in the midst of battle, but soldiers on both sides dwindled, and soon, there were barely any people left.
It was a complete bloodbath. Numbly, she felt blood dripping off her shoulder. She was hurt, and she had lost her sword somewhere in the fray, so she snagged one off a dead soldier, lying facedown in the dirt.
He wouldn’t need it anymore.
Guess that we’re soulmates in different lifetimes
They could’ve grown up together. Visited each other on holidays, helped name their nephews or nieces. It could’ve been that way.
But alas, one rarely gets the things they want.
Lost my fight with fate
She knew she had lost the war. She had tried, at least. She had tried to fight fate, but it was always a lost cause. After all, who could divert the river of life? She aimed for the bullseye, and fate had simply snapped the bowstring. She wanted to swim, and fate had poisoned the water.
She wondered why she even bothered trying.
I give in, I abdicate
I lay my sword down anyway
She saw him then. Sword in hand, regret obvious in every part of his stiff position.
“I don’t want to fight you.” His voice was the same as before. She raised an eyebrow. He didn’t recognize her yet. Had the iron tang of blood muddled his memories that much?
Fine. If fate wanted entertainment, who was she to refuse?
“And yet, that’s the situation we find ourselves in, isn’t it?” Before giving him a chance to respond, she swung her blade in an arc. He parried. And then they were twelve again, clumsily fighting with old, wooden swords, laughter spinning the air.
She ducked down low, sword singing through the air.
Clash.
Their swords met in the air, and she broke the hold first, stepping back. Preparing for the next step of the all-too-familiar dance. This time, though, she didn’t dodge. She felt the blade jabbing through the air, felt it slide into her chest, piercing something unfixable.
She winced. Her sword thumped as it fell on the ground.
I’ll see you at heaven’s gate
His eyes widened. He recognized her technique. He spoke her name.
She coughed wetly. She managed a nod before collapsing forward. He caught her.
“What are you doing here?”
She smiled weakly. “Looking…for y-you.”
“For me?” He was crying now, his tears mixing with the blood.
“You’re fighting…on the wrong…side.” He had to lean down to hear her voice.
He laughed, more out of panic than anything else. “I know. I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t ask if she’s going to be okay or not. They both knew the answer to that question.
She motioned for him to lean down and then whispered six words.
With that, her breath left her body. He sat there for a long time after that, waiting for her to do something, but she didn’t move.
‘Cause it’s too little, way too late
