The Skeletons

Years fly by like dead leaves.  Everything is darkness.  Everything is silence.  You stand vigilant before the sarcophagus without thought or breath-such is your compulsion.  You do not remember your name and still you watch.  The flesh has fallen off your bones and still you watch.  And then one day there is light and motion and you weigh your bearded axe and raise your shield, lusting for the fr…