They lay there, spread out like a mural, the crows flying overhead to peck out their eyes and strut about among and upon them. They lie at grotesque angles; some's cloaks are lying out around them in a picturesque manner, making the sad scene look almost beautiful. The blood of the brave stains the ground.
The king lies on his back, his arms spread eagle; his eyes still open as if he were staring at the sky. The many arrows it took to bleed the life from him, Leonidas, the last to die that day in Glory, still quiver as the wind blows them; they sick grotesquely out of his muscular chest. The spot were he is lying will be marked someday with a monument, the name of the King and his brave Three Hundred to be carved upon it. Remember Us, He had said, Just Remember Us, and why we died. His last order will surely be carried out. He and the Three Hundred are heroes, Heroes of Sparta; Heroes of Greece. Heroes of the known world. The Valiant king and his brave Three Hundred will be remembered, for how could anyone forget the price paid for their freedom? Remember Us. What do the kings lifeless eyes say? They cry not for mercy, nor do they hold pain, they hold acceptance, acceptance of death, and a longing, the longing to be remembered
Remember Us, his eyes say. Remember Us. We died for the citizens of our country; we died for our women and children. We died for Sparta. We died for Greece. It is our blood that stains the ground and our broken bodies that are pecked at by the crows. Our determination can be seen from far away, a blood sky is lit underneath the yellow of a passing storm. Remember the price that all paid, a heavy price. Blood Money. When it rains you are feeling the tears of our wives and daughters that are shed in secrecy, for no Spartan cries. They are the tears of the Queen Gorgo, who campaigned for more troops to be sent to our aid. They come to late, we died. The Persians and their God King will die too, for we hear the marching of Spartan feet and their war cries. They come towards us. They will fight as we fought. To the death, for the honor, glory and freedom of our beloved Homeland, Sparta. Beloved and strong, beautiful warrior – land Sparta. We will be remembered by our blood on the ground, by our war cries that linger still in the air about us, by the diminished Persian numbers, by the long scar on Xerxes' face. The world will remember us when they here the name of Leonidas and the Valiant Three Hundred who died at the Hotgates as they are called.
SPARTANS, GLORY IS OURS!
Glory in our Death.
Remember Us, Sparta, Remember Us.
We Will Be Remembered.
Remember Us, Sparta… Remember Us.