A journey backs home, a home where I can rest and recuperate for a longer battle. A battle that is so much harsher than before. I need to go home and rest… It is a long journey… There lies a tavern, a memorable one. A tavern that I used to stop and rest for awhile and waited for her to continue the journey.

A war broke up not long after, families were torn apart, people feared, and nation was divided but people tried living as normal… It was an unexpected war, a war that come so quickly and ends so swiftly. It was never mentioned again.

Life still goes on despite the aftermath of the war are in the air… I embarked my journey home from the city. I decided to take the usual route. Although it is much longer but it is definitely a much comfy ride home and it will surely go past that memorable tavern.

Ever since the war, I always chose this route to go home from the city, hoping to see her at the tavern but never once I met her. Perhaps the war really separated us. It had become a routine for me, a routine for me to wait for her but now I am no longer to do so, the war ceased my privilege.

I embarked this journey home, on the caravan, there were chatters of the recent death of a great pioneer minister of our state, and I felt sorrowed and sad that we had lost another capable leader. The recent death of many great pioneer leaders of state seemed to be like a prophecy, “The young ones should rise!”

I was so amazed by the accolades of what this late leader, truly amazed by his speeches and actions. At this moment, the caravan went past the tavern and I saw her… I wanted to shout at her but no voice came out. I know I am not allowed to. I stared at her through the little opening, I wondered if she saw me.

The caravan soon left the tavern; I did not get off as it is forbidden. I became so lost in thoughts, flashes of memories… I was holding back my tears, felt my heart being stabbed and stabbed… Again and again… The pain was beyond description, beyond what I can contained. The journey home went on.

People were cheering when the caravan reached my hometown. A hometown so peaceful and quiet yet so colourful and filled with life. I was standing at the pier, still pretty lost in thoughts; undecided on how was I going back home. I looked at the woods ahead, I said to myself, “I shall walk home today”

The images of her never left my mind, in fact still hovering around me, haunting me of the terrible war. A war that was never meant to happen. A strong gush of wind was blowing across my cheek, a wind so strong that I never experience before. It went cutting at my cheek and it bled. Yes, it’s hurt but it is not as painful as my heart after being stabbed. The wound was healed but the injury is prominent.

The woods was quiet, the sky was dark. I walked on double paces, hoping to reach home before it rained. I looked around, I wondered, “Where are the singing of the lovely birds? Where are the buzzing of the busy bees?” Perhaps they went to hide, feared of this bruised and battered man. I shall not blame them.

I opened the door, felt so lethargic like never before. I fell straight for the bed and started to ponder what had happen, hoping to get some sleep after thinking. The more I thought, the more I depressed I felt. I couldn’t help it but shed a tear. Not for her but for me, a tear shed for my effort went to waste. A hero of the war that was never recongnised. I lit the candle by my table, and started writing my story.