(I wrote this in year 9, so two years ago, and just found it on a memory stick so thought I'd post it here. It's obviously not the best as I'm pretty sure it was written in like five minutes)
As it grew darker and colder, the looming threat of death grew stronger. The icy wind whipped round and lashed at me like I was a prisoner. My heavy boots sunk into the deep snow as I trekked across the battlefield, shielding myself from the blood lust that surrounded me. I looked ahead of me, and watched as my own breath danced around the falling flakes of snow. It was almost as if it were mocking me. The contrast between the rhythmic sway of my breath and the seeping red blood that squelched beneath my boots made me sigh in anger.
I wasn’t far away from the action; I could hear the screaming and the metallic clinks as swords met in mid-air. I wanted to hide, but if they knew I was hiding, I’d be shot, and I would be labelled a coward. I admitted to myself that I was a coward;but I didn’t want to die one. Hands trembling, I clutched at the sword by my side, just in case. Then, trying to steady my breathing, I advanced towards the action.
As I approached the brow of the hill, my ears were pricked like an alert dog as the sounds of the battle echoed around me. It was egregious, and my heart skipped a beat, interrupting the calm I’d been trying to maintain. The foul stench of burning flesh lingered round me, making my stomach churn. I wretched, feeling the burning sensation in the back of my throat rise.
There were hundreds more of them than us, and fear dripped down my forehead in the form of sweat. They were all heading this direction, and my instinct was to run. But I didn’t run. Why didn't I run? I drew my sword from its sheath, the moonlight bouncing off the sharp edges as I held it up to the horizon. I knew I was going to die; I was going out like every other soldier I knew. With a fight. With blood spilled across the earth that was not my own. With the terrified tears of the opposition. With anger.
And then I waited.