Once upon a time I brought three tiny humans into a world I could not protect them from. Knowing that I was already imprisoned in that castle’s highest tower, locked far away from light, from hope, from salvation, I still welcomed this army onto the battlefield with open arms. I told myself they would be my salvation. I told myself their presence would be the key to ultimate freedom.
But my defenses were slowly destroyed. The drawbridge failed to close us off from harm. I tried my best to equip them with the best armor I could build them from what I could find. I tried to equip them with the proper weapons with which to fight. We fought so bravely when we should not have had to fight at all. Our love for each other lit the treacherous path long after the embers from the raging fires had died down. We fought to keep our flickering flames from snuffing out.
We lost nearly every battle we fought but came out victorious in the war. We could’ve hung our heads in defeat and submitted to the darkness, but we took such care to nurture those precious flames. Tiny adults thrown onto the battlefield much too soon, their armor is chipped and cracked much like my own, yet they still wear it so proudly.
My tiny soldiers gave me strength.
They gave me hope.
Fighters, they are.
Fighters, we all are.