Dark Blue-ish

So, I actually spent money on this picture. At the bead store. Didn't come out as well as I'd hoped, but I'll continue messing with them. Later.

So, in case you can't tell, I ran out of random words and am now using song titles.
Dark Blue - Jack's Mannequin

            It was white when he charged.

            When he ran, sword raised, towards the line of silver. Silver armored men standing in rows, waiting. Waiting for him. Waiting for death. White with the glory, white as his conscience, because he had done the right thing, in coming. In coming to defend his world, instead of cowering like a child.

            It was a whiteness that reflected off his weapon as he raised it, casting a dazzling light into his eyes that made him slow, just for a moment.

            It was white when he held onto their faces, the faces of those he was going to defend. Every mark on his son’s skin. White, unscarred, new, features burned into his mind. White, like the petals that covered the grave of his wife.

            It was red when he swung.

            When that sword, the flashing white sword, changed colors when it was first entered in a man’s flesh. When that other man fell, and he kept on running. Running forward, following his own, running forward to save what he had left behind.

            It was red when the first steel grazed his own skin, when the dreaded cry of pain came out. That first falter in bravery, in determination. But it was worth it, it was worth every bit if they could hold their borders. If they could keep the enemy from coming in.

            It was red when he remembered his brother, the brother whose death was caused by the ones he now fights. And that makes him push forward even harder, knife and sword swinging as he’d been taught. He is mighty. He is unstoppable.

            It was brown when he fell.  

            One moment, he is standing, steel in hand. One moment it is red and the next it is brown, brown everywhere. The brown dirt pressing up against his face, taunting him, laughing at him. And that cut, that cut from before. It is finally present, finally holding him down. Making him unable to stand.

            It was brown when the horse stepped on his back and there was nothing but dirt to muffle his scream. When again, he brought their faces, and tried again to stand. But he can’t, not anymore, because it’s the bones that keep him there.

            They were brown, those bones. Brown with age. Bones he’d forgotten that he had and some that he’d thought were long one. And it’s a fight, those bones holding him down while the white white faces try to pull him up.

            It was light blue when he rolled over.

            It was by accident, really. It was a kick of a passerby that made him have to work so hard to keep from crying out in pain. A kick that gave him just enough momentum to face the sky. That pale blue sky, spreading its wings into infinity. Blue, nothing but blue.

            It was blue as the fight had moved away from him. He can still hear the screaming, the clanging. But from far, far in the distance. Blue like the eyes of that first man, the blue eyes that grew so large with pain as his sword pierced neck.

            It’s blue, so blue. Blue like that brook at home, the one where he taught his son about the fish. The one that trickles past his house, every day and every night, steady, constant. The one that will be there, long after he dies. (Is he dying? He can’t die. He promised he would come back.)

            It was dark blue as the time fell away.

            As he became suspended, not in life, and not in death. In that strange state when one is trying to pass from the earth, yet fighting just as hard to stay there. It’s the bones that are now pulling him up and the faces that hold him down. Tell him to stay.

            It’s dark blue as the stars come out, opening their arms to the broken body, and those that lie around him. As the ever-steady clang of battle stretches across the hills and plains, proof that he is still there.

            It’s dark blue as the stars come out. The same stars that guard his home. His life. His world. Everything important to him is under those stars. Everything, and those faces, they know. They know they are important, and so they let go. Let his bones carry him. Everything important is guarded by the stars. And so he leaves.

            It’s pink as the sun rises.