[Sample] Let It Go?

She kneels, is knighted, and receives her sword with glee. She is ready. She is ready to go out and fight the enemy. To her dying breath if it may be.

So, she goes out. Ready for anything. Her first opponent comes along. They are evenly matched, but she defeats him. She is happy. Proud she could bring her Lord glory.

Some time later, the next comes along, stronger than the last. But she is stronger as well.

As she goes on, this pattern continues for some weeks. Months.

All this time, she is surrounded by a hedge of stronger, older, more experienced warriors, ensuring that no more than she can handle reach her.

As time goes on, she and her friends fight together. Even some of her elders join in the battle by her side. All is well. The work is grueling, but she bears it well. In fact, she is happy to do so.

Then suddenly, she is overwhelmed. More enemies than she has ever seen come rushing at her. She fights for all she is worth. And she is surviving. Her comrades are there as well, but there are too many. She may fight beside them for a moment or two, but she is soon alone again. Or so it seems to her.

The hedge of warriors move closer, but they only watch. They are forbidden to help. Unless…

More and more attack her. For every one she defeats, another takes his place a moment later. Her breathing room, the space free of the enemies, grows smaller and smaller until she is surrounded on all sides by her adversaries.

Her friends see her plight, but they can’t reach her. They try to advise her, but she is unsure how to put the advice to use.

She is struck down. She lands painfully on her knees and cries out as the enemies’ blows rain down upon her. Quickly, she raises her guard, but can do little more than fend them off.

Her elders begin to tell her to—to drop her sword?! It seems so counter intuitive! But they know better than she. She tries to follow their advice, but every time she begins to lower her guard, instincts take over and she raises her sword to block the never ending blows.

She looks now to the strong warriors. She asks, begs, pleads with them to help her. They look on sympathetically, but cannot help. Unless…

The rest of her friends take up the cry that she drop her sword. She assures them that she is trying. And she is. But she can’t seem to loose the iron grip she has on the precious sword.

She is knocked down again. She hasn’t even enough strength to block. The blows rain down relentlessly on her prone body. But she maintains the iron grip.

Her cries for help are met with orders to let go. She tries with everything she has, but she can’t seem to make her fingers work.

Finally, she gives up. She lies in the dirt and makes no effort to move. No effort to block. No effort to live. She hasn’t strength to cry out at this point.

Then, her fingers open, and the sword slides free.

The second the metal breaks contact with her fingertips, the warriors surge forward. They, so skilled, so strong, take out the entire hoard in a matter of moments. Suddenly, she can breathe again. Her strength returns to her, slowly. She looks around, bewildered, into the faces of her friends, her elders, and yes, even the warriors. They help her to her feet. One of the warriors retrieves and returns her sword to her.

“But I don’t understand. Am I to hold it or let it go?”

“You are to do both.”

As little sense it made, it also made perfect sense. Yet, she would be hard pressed to explain it should someone ask.

Her strength has returned to her and she wants to move forward once again.

She remembers her promise. Her promise to serve her King to her dying day.

Now, she does move forward again, better prepared for the battles yet to come.

[Not sure if I want to explain this or not. Figure out the symbolism for yourself.

Written at about 7 this morning as I tried to go to sleep. It didn't work and I wanted to write this down anyway. Three hours later, and I still can't sleep so I'm posting it.

Sorry, there isn't more. This isn't really a story, just a piece of work.

All praises to the King.]