Five Sentence Fiction is about packing a powerful punch in a tiny fist. Each week I will post a one word inspiration, then anyone wishing to participate will write a five sentence story based on the prompt word. The word does not have to appear in your five sentences, just use it for direction.This week, the chosen word is "Victory." Victory, to me, usually comes from all those war movies I watch. Or, perhaps, a little Conan... Either way, that's the drive behind this entry.
All around him was a bloody mass of bodies chaotically intertwined in a cacophony of carnage.
Alone, standing on the field, sword ever at the ready, battle-standard in hand -- his flag blazing as it flapped in the ineffable breeze -- he scoured the countryside for any sign that he had not taken the last of them to the bowels of Hell by the point of his blade.
Cursing the fallen enemy as they lay at his feet, he could hear distant moans of gory demise dim and come to silence as the last of the refuse paid their debt to him in the currency called death.
For what seemed like miles around him the offal littered the ground, the stench was horrible, it burned his nostrils; and he felt a heaving in his chest as he breathed, and only through a supreme act of will could he keep the contents of his last meal from climbing back up his windpipe.
He had taken the day and dealt with his own bloody hands a defeat from which they would never recover -- at long last the war was over.