The battle ended with my sword ripping flesh. I fell,exhausted to the dusty, bloodstained ground. My men all leaned oneach other. Too wary to let out a cry of triumph. My second in command, JerryMoonstone, limped to my side and lay down beside me. We both laid thereon our backs. Just as we did when we were kids on a warm summer’s day. Watchingthe clouds move lazily across the clear blue sky. It was funnythinking about it. Thinking about such a peaceful thing right after Ijust killed twenty men. Maybe more. Then again, I could just be delicious. “We need to get you to the med tent,” Jerry said “Ha! I’m fine,” I said. I really did feel fine. Otherthan a few aches and scrapes. “Nah, man you’re missin’ a few fingers!” Jerry laughed,a nervous laugh. I looked down at my left hand. Two bloody stumps replacedthe place where my index and middle fingers were. I turned away fromJerry and vomited. The red and green barf pooled. Reminding me of thechristmas wreaths I would see on people's doors in December. I whippedmy mouth on my damp and gory jacket. I stood but a ripping in mychest made me gasp and collapse. Before I hit the ground Jerry’s dark brownhands caught me and steadied my wobbly knees. A thin trickle of bloodcrawled out from behind my jacket. I laughed hysterically, suddenly feelinggiddy. “MED! MED!!” Jerry yelled “CAPTAINS’ HISTARIC!!” The next few hours were a blur. People in white clothingswarmed around me like bees. I was lifted into a stretcher and broughtinto a white tent. People poked a prodded me. The stinging in my lefthand was now more prominent. There was screaming in the background.Only weeks later did I realize that it was me. Six weeks later I was well enough. It still was hardto look at my left hand. I was in my house standing on the upper story balconylooking down at the quiet cobblestone streets. Barely anyone was out attwo am. I decided to take a walk in the lamplit streets. Alone. FinallyAlone. I walked down stairs and grabbed my coat and hat. I looked at the uglywalking stick. I grabbed that too. Doctor’s orders. I turned the brass handle.Fresh air flooded my senses. It was that very moment, at 2:08am, Wednesdaythe 7th of April, that I realized something. Life wasn’t about war.It wasn’t about winning. Life was about living. Life was about savoring the moments that were important to us. It was about saving the people welove.