The Purple Patch - Missouri Valley College

Everyone I knew was dying before my very eyes. My brother,
the leader of the rebellion, watched as I fled the fray to
grab the corpse of my best friend, intending to grant him
the proper burial he had earned. After several moments, he
finally found an opportunity to walk up to me. By the time
he came to me, I was crying uncontrollably, dragging the
lifeless body of my childhood friend. He stopped me and
quietly, but forcefully said, “Leave him. There’s no time for
this.”
“But … he … this isn’t right, Lars,” I whispered between
sobs. “… he deserves better …”
Hours later I watched as a small group of birds
landed near his fresh corpse. For quite a while they nervously
hopped around, waiting for us to carry on. Then the
feast began. I watched as the bodies of my closest friends,
men and women I had grown up with, were slowly devoured
by a great variety of scavengers. Angered beyond
reason, I flew into an uncontrollable fit of rage and lunged
with my blade at the closest bird, only to have it fly to
another rotting corpse. This was an effort I repeated countless
times, but to no avail.
Back once again to the present, I notice that I am
the last man standing, the last of my people. I drop my
blood-stained sword and begin to leave the battlefield. As
I stumble over the corpse of my once brave and powerful
brother, the last hope our rebellion had, my mind once
again reverts to the past and I recall the brief conversation
we had had that morning. Once prepared for the day’s
onslaught, he began berating me for always shirking battle.
“You must have anger, brother! Is this not so?” He
asked me, growing impatient.
“Yes, but I also have fear. It prevents me from acting
upon my anger.” And as I remind him of this, he strides
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