The wily King flew deep into the serge of warriors and was lost to me in the commotion. I knew he was alive only by the silver flash of his sword, I caught it in the corner of my eye, and his laughter ringing out with every close call. His excitement and the peace of God Almighty – these kept me level in the rampage of battle, especially one in which I was alone with my blade.
I am surrounded by the Philistine forces, and I alone. They have yet to realize that I am their singular resistance. All others have fled, the weak and the strong. King David is making a scene somewhere in the crowd of on-comers, and I strike down those within reach, but the rest continue to charge forward. Their numbers so great, even the many dead are but a drop. As they rush past, I stand my ground, clothes-lining and stabbing one after another. Ten men down, twelve, twenty. I will make my mark, if it be my last, upon this enemy. Thirty, forty, forty-five, fifty. I glance around, from every direction they come. Hundreds. And my King has slain his ten-thousands, but he had an army behind him then, the same army what just abandoned him. It still wrecks my mind, why they would run away. But I am here, so I continue to fight with all my strength and will.
Sixty, seventy, eighty, eighty-four, eighty-five. My hand loosens, my arm slows. One can swing for only so long. And it is now that the brutes begin to notice me and the corpses strewn about my step. And where is David? Good God, is this the end, and should Your people fall for my weary limbs? Like a pack of ravenous wolves, drooling with hunger, the army – a thousand burning eyes – turn to me and move in to feed.
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