A Sword

The metal glints in the darkness.
Waiting expectantly.
Shadowing the man brave enough to handle this truesome warrior.
It starts.
The silver turning hot red seizing the oppourtunity to fly at something,
Demolishing any chance of hope.
It thaws in the darkness,
getting prouder and careless.
Hits turn into chances and soon the metal is shooting aimless throws,
Suddenly it drops,
blunt and broken,
clattering to the floor.
No glint.
No colour.
Just a sword.