“Negative emotions are rabble-rousers. They are many, yet one. We can call them, Legion. But that must not live inside you. That demagogue toxic waste who whispers in those lonely nights, that thing which defaces your spirit and dreams must not live in your mind. The garrulous Legion thieves you of anything good. I, your Master demands that you get up at once,” he said. His voice was like that of a thousand trumpets.
The warrior squirmed on the floor.
“Let your prayers be heard! Let your hope give you light. Let light provide you with confidence. Legion glowers when you fight it. So wear your armor, be brave, and spoil the banal words of your enemy at hand. You fool! It’s not you. It’s Legion. So fight!”
“B-but I am b-blind, S-sir. Barely living,” the soldier said.
The Master retorted, “Indeed you are. I said fight!”
She could hardly hold her body. But the soldier rose to her feet. Bent in agony at her Master’s feet, she said, “Master, I am dying in this desolate and dark world. P-please, hel-p m-me.”
The soldier nodded.
©Ana P. Rose & Anaprose 2018.