"Opportunity" [by Edward Rowland Sill] Rewrite

There is a great battle in the desolate midst of the Desert of Doom. The two mighty nations arrange themselves for battle, with teeth gritted, eyes squinting in the brightness and the hatred. The ruthless sun glares down on the glittering metal that covers the soldier’s bodies. And then there is the mindless slashing, slicing, and stabbing of the two nations as they kick up a sand cloud that is seen for miles round in the Land of Doom. I am the sword that a soldier splintered and threw down. I lay broken in the sandy dust as the battle raged around me, now silently I watch the blood spray, the swords ring, and the lives severed. My slivers lay sparkling about me in the midst of the chaos. My eyes grow dark and my limbs grow cold. Never more would a soldier grasp my solid hilt again, never more would I dance in the sun, cutting short the lives of mortal men, never more would I be placed quietly to rest after a long day’s slaughter in my sheath of soft leather. Now I lay in naught but death’s numb embrace, and the sanguine sands in the Land of Doom. But then I feel a strong hand reach for me. I throw open my eyes and behold the glorious face of the king’s son. He regards me with a solemn eye, and then a smile leaps to his lips. He lifts my shattered form high above his head, giving a rousing battle-cry! Ah, the warriors fall like stalks of grass before the might of the prince that day, he rouses his men, and routes the enemy, sending them fleeing off into the very withering heart of the Land of Doom.