Once upon a time in a distanct land there was a castle with a city right next to it. One day a great conflict came and swept all the people out of the city and destroyed all the houses. The only thing left was the castle.
The castle was high on a hilltop above the city. It was was like a big brother to the city. But today the castle was deserted. There was not one person in the castle. All there was to this castle was the sound of the wind coming though a window whisttling down the long corridors and then out an another window at the other end.
Everything of value that wasn't nailed down was gone, taken in a flash stolen even. Everything but what was left on a stone table in the main hall.
On one side of this stone table lay a pen in a dried inkwell and a sword. On the other side of this stone table lay a pool of blood and a book filled with empty, blank pages.
Just then as the wind came though the castle, it gave voice to these four objects.
"What happen." The pen could barely say.
"It's over now. Everything is quiet now." The sword responded.
"But what happened." The pen asked again.
"They came though and ransacked our city and killed those who wouldn't leave." The blood yelled. "They, the people on the other side of the river, the ones who left with everything."
The sword then spoke with a steely edge. "they only came to get back what was their's to begin with. If everybody had cooperated, nobody would have got hurt. It's only when your side fought back that they got hurt . They shuold have given us what we wanted and we would have left, peacefully."
"You came to conquer, to take what ever you wanted, to steal everything we had.How could we not fight back. To defend what we had, against you. How absurd of you to say that." The blood responded.
"We're not going to get anywhere by arguing. Let's try to figure out what happen." The pen shot in.
The book then spoke in quiet tones. "Let's go over what happen here. The people from the other side of the river came here and killed people and took things back with them to the other side."
"Murdered and stole." Shotted the blood.
"Reclaimed and defended themselfs." Interjected the sword.
"Quiet, quiet. We know what happen. People were killed and property was taken. But what started it. Who did what." Was the book's question.
"They started it. They came over and not just killed us, but murdered us, lots of us, in cold blood, for no reason."
"We didn't start it, they started by attacking first and taking our belongings before. And we lost people, too. So, it wasn't just your side that suffered." Came a sharp worded answer from the sword.
"For any of this to have meaning, it must be recorded, written down for all time, so that people can learn from it. It must be nonbias and present all the facts in meaningful ways. I offer myself for that purpose." The book was very proud of itself.
"It doesn't matter, book, my inkwell is dry."
"What are we to do. Nothing to write with, we risk losing history to our future. Repeating our mistakes. What can we do." The book was sullen.
Just then the blood spoke."I have an idea."
"What is it." Said the pen.
"On one condition."
"What is it." Said the book.
"That you don't write history with a dry eye. That you represent us as real people who were murdered, in cold blood, for no reason."
"No way." Said the pen.
"Wait a minute. If we don't write what happen down now, it might get misinterpreted later. While it is still fresh in our minds. Let's hear what the blood has to say before the rest of us say anything. What's your idea."
"Your use me as you would the ink, to write history down."
The book thought long and hard about this, the pen was just still, the sword a little ashamed, for the sword is what spilled the blood in the beginning.
After a long pause the book broke the silence. "I will do it. What choice do we have."
The pen only mumbled and the sword was quiet.
The pen then perked up and said "What will become of us, even if we write history using blood. What willhappen to us. Who will come for us."
"That's a good question." The sword agreeded.
Nobody knew what to say then. It hadn't come up before.
"Let's look at it like this." The book started. "The history that fills my pages would make me valuable to anybody that ever came back here."
"But depending on what side comes back first will decide on what slant history gets. But I dare say
you will be taken by somebody, once you are written. As for me, I don't know." Commented the blood.
The book returned the comment."Once spilled, you become sacrilegious to take. You, I'm afraid, will be here forever."
"What about us." Demanded the sword and pen. "What's going to happen to us."
The book surmised. "The pen will probable be left behind also, because it was brought, in hast and as an afterthought. Once historyis written that pen would not be needed again. As for the sword, I suspect that in their hast to get everything they could get, they left the sword behind. They will be back for you. And with you, me, too. Now we write our story and wait."
"But what have we learned. Not just what has happen, but what we've learned from what has happen. The moral of this story, of history. What is it tring to tell us." Pleaded the blood.
"I know, I know.The failure of war to prove anything. Also our involvement in it. The four of us are always in the middle of every conflict. That’s what I’ve learned." The pen openly said.
“How do we explain what we know in a simple and concise way.” Requested the blood.
"That history is written in blood." The pen shouted out.
"Is that all we've learned." Quized the blood. "Is there not more."
"One thing I've learned." Said the sword. "Is that as strong as I am, made out of steel, even, the
pen is stronger then me. I am used only by the mighty. The pen is used by the masses."
"So what, what does that mean." Quipped the blood.
"The pen is mighter then the sword." Utter the sword.
"But is that all it tells us. Is there even a bigger moral to be learned. Something even bigger then that."
"What, I give up. I don't know." Said the pen.
"That's it. That's all there is. Isn't it. What elso could there be." Asked the sword.
The book finally broke the silence. "There is something more. Something I can barely figure out."
"The pen writes the history in blood, no, no, no,The blood is spilled by the sword, or, or, or....
"I know it now." Said the book. "The sword spills the blood, that fills the pen that writes the history, or, or,or. Here it is. History is written in the blood that is spilled by the sword that fills the pen
that is mightier then the sword that again spills the blood that history is written in, or, or, or...."
Author Notes: This story is from a book I wrote. If you like this story you may find my book interesting. It is available on Amazon. (Relief Stories for a Nine Inning Game) I hope you like it.