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Contributed by Matthew Hartwell on 14/02/09

The soldier had not been among the first to occupy the castle. The bulk of the fighting had happened in the months before, and when the castle was captured, he had still been in training, learning the differences between his weapons, and small snippets of foreign language that would aid him in communicating with any prisoners they happened to take.

He was a master of figures, and because of this mathematical proclivity, he had been assigned a position as quartermaster. This, much to his relief, kept him off the front lines, and in the rear, far from fighting. His castle, as he had now come to think of it, served as a supply station for troops moving into this land.

There was a princess, of course. There always was. Castles have princesses, just as his town back home had plenty of merchant’s daughters. The princess, however, was a prisoner, and likely to ignore any romantic advances he made.

The princess, clad as she was, cut a striking contrast with her hair, shorn off at the roots, likely in a fit of rage at being taken prisoner. Certainly, she was no longer allowed access to anything sharp, for fear she would take her own life.

At night, the soldier dreamt of home. His house he had built himself the previous Summer, with his own two hands, out of many colored bricks, on a green patch of earth adorned with flowers and rough grass. The dreams kept him motivated. He was here, in this cold land for home, after all.

When it began, the roar integrated itself into his dream, like the ringing bell of his alarm, though in the dream, the roar was that of a plane engine taking off. However, there was something unnaturally natural in the sound. Something alive.

Rousing himself from his slumber, he went to his window and looked down into the courtyard. T-Rexes had clambered over the gate, cavemen on their backs. This barbaric country still resisted the march of progress, and it sickened him to his bones. Below, his green-clad fellows were being tossed around by the handful, three flying to the left, three to the right, a whole squad of guards knocked over like tenpins. One unfortunate soul was between the maws of the lead beast, and though they weren’t loud enough to reach his ears, his screams reached the soldier’s heart.

The princess was shouting from the opposite tower, words of encouragement and praise to the monsters below. The soldier debating shooting her with his pistol, but remembered she was far more valuable as a hostage. He grabbed his rifle and headed for the tower stairs.

Upon reaching the bottom, he came face to face with his foe. The cavemen had been only a diversion. Here was the mastermind, taller than the castle, and glistening in the rain. Steel and thunder echoed around the soldier, as he stood his ground against the terrifying metal monstrosity, his limbs rigid, though not with fear.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt himself lift into the air. He was in God’s hands now.