Service's Price by Ella Spitler

Ella Spitler WoB Short Story Contest 10/6/2025 Service’s Price I’m a knight. It’s my job. It’s an honor to fight for my country and my people. I fight for the family I couldn’t protect, the strength that I had once lacked made up by duty. Their deaths forever remain a searing burden I carry. Their smiles and names burned into my skin with the ink of guilt. I do this for them, all of it, for them. ​ “Liam!” my bunkmate calls. He reminds me of my little brother that once walked on this Earth. The same green eyes and dusty brown hair. But Ethan, my late brother, was more delicate and innocent. So many innocents were caught in the crossfire of this bloody war. Me included. I bear the scar of the licking fire and concrete rubble and I’m not the only one. ​ Tomas bursts through our barrack room short of breath, his hands on his knees, “It’s… steak… for dinner… tonight!” ​ “What’s the occasion?” I ask, cynical. We almost never get meat and if we do it’s dried turkey. The rest of our diets are filled with rice and molded vegetables that I’m ashamed to admit isn’t as disgusting as time goes on. ​ He simply shrugs, “Who knows? Who cares? It’s a delicacy for crying out loud!” ​ Tomas is young and bright. The war hasn’t yet tainted him and I send a silent prayer that it never does. But for me who has been fighting this battle for a long time knows the truth. We will be joining the front lines tomorrow. It’s a death sentence, believe me I know. So many of my comrades have left and have never returned, their blood poured into the cup of justice and fed to the kings that treat us like pawns. ​ I sneer under my breath, “They are sending us to die but at least we have nice food.” ​ “Come on!” Tomas says tugging my arms in the direction of the commons. “There are musicians tonight.” ​ I follow the hungry soul down the muddled halls and into the loud tranquility of our eating area. Men are laughing or stuffing their faces. Some are talking and others teasing. This is my home. I may be a government pawn but I know why I fight. This is my purpose. ​ Mark slaps his hand down on my shoulder, “Hey Liam, finally decided to join the party eh? Come on lads, let’s dance!” ​ The music starts up and it’s a beautiful sound that echoes through the damp boards and full wooden tables. The torches flicker as if to dance along and the breath of the wind that whips through the window plays with the torn curtains. ​ Herds of males get up and dance in a synchronized manner. It may not be pretty or graceful but it’s full of life. I laugh as I’m pulled into the mass, as my feet move to the chords, as our hearts beat together, all of us knowing that we may never get the chance to do this again. ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………