La Noche Triste

I never thought that it would come to this. My soldiers, my friends, are all dead. They were killed by the Aztec savages and their satanic deities. It should have been me. For I, Hernán Cortes, the leader, the oppressor, the conquistador, have been the real mastermind behind this terrible ordeal. We obtained gold, but at what price? This sad night, this noche triste, will live in infamy forever. But how did it happen? I have to think back to the events of the day.
After a week of debate, my advisors and I had decided to leave the city of Tenochtitlan due to civil unrest. We planned to begin our journey when the city was asleep; carrying all of our gold and what we brought with us. From there, we would swim across the canals and reach safety. If only we knew what would be waiting for us.
We spent the rest of the day preparing and briefing the soldiers for the escapade.
Finally, the moment of truth had arrived. We assumed that the Aztecs were asleep because there were no people on the streets of Tenochtitlan. Even though it was late, the arid climate made us sweat. We proceeded quietly, my advisors and I leading the way, our eyes wary and our swords out; it was quiet, much too quiet.
The first sign of an ambush was when one of the soldiers shouted "attacka!" We then held our swords at the ready, waiting for the Aztecs to charge. All of a sudden, we realized that they were watching us, waiting for the right moment. That very second, a horde of arrows rained down upon us.
We reacted instantly, trying to find shelter. Everywhere we ran, there were Aztecs. By the time we were able to defend ourselves, we had lost over 100 men. Noble men, with families, hopes, dreams, lives, all crushed by the vicious force of Tenochtitlan. I shouted "¡Corre hacia el lago!" to get them to push forward. We ran for our lives, trying to get to the lake. Then, just then, I noticed, the bridge was destroyed.
"¡Nada!" I commanded the soldiers. Simultaneously, like it had been rehearsed, we all dived in. I struggled to swim because my precious survival gear was weighing me down. Then, the lake started to turn red, arrows fell from the sky, then the world went completely silent for a minute. I saw my life flash by.
I remembered everything, my father taking me outside to explore, buying my first boat, and deciding to go to New Spain without the government's permission. Most of all, I remembered my wife and my children. I wished I could see them one more time; to hear them laugh as we told jokes by the fireplace. At that moment, I said no. I would not give up; I would keep going until the end.
So, I swam as fast as I could. Apparently, the other survivors caught on and followed.
After thirty minutes of vigorous swimming and the feeling that our arms had turned to el flan, we had reached the other side. When I finally stepped on land, I felt a sharp pain in my heel. I looked down to find that I had an arrow stuck in my foot. I then pulled it out with a sharp and quick tug.
It was ironic, that I got an arrow stuck in my foot. It was like a repeat of the Greek myth of Achilles. Like me, Achilles seemed to be an unbeatable warrior who was taken down by an archer with horrible aim.
I looked down at my pack to find a bandage, but I could not find one. I assumed that I had dropped it while swimming. I then decided to ask one of my advisors for help so I limped over to where I saw one of them. "¿Puedo usar sus suministros medicos?
"Sí, usted puede." He responded.
"¿Dondé están los asesores otros?"
"Hemos perdido de vista de ellos por un segundo y luego se encontraban en el fondo del lago."
At that moment, I realized the consequences of us being attacked. We had lost over 700 soldiers. I began to sob quietly into my jacket. I could not let the other soldiers see their leader acting weak.
"That was then, this is now" I began to whisper to myself, back in the present time. I gathered my survivors together to tell them what must happen next. "Due to the att-" I stopped speaking mid-word because I noticed the condition of my soldiers. They were bruised, cut, beaten, and tired. The real shock was when I looked into their eyes. There was nothing, no color, no thought, nothing. It seemed like the Aztecs performed a horrific sacrifice on them that sucked out their souls and left their hearts empty. "Due to the attack, I have decided that we will spend time recuperating and then we can figure out a plan."
I heard a loud exhale of breath, and noticed some visible release of tension in their shoulders; as if they were afraid to go on. I chose to dismiss them because they had gone through enough for one day. I still instructed my surviving advisors to stay.
"¿Qué vamos a hacer?" One asked.
"¿Vamos a attackar luego?" Asked another.
I had no idea what to say. Should we attack? Should we cut out losses and leave? I was still in shock and disbelief that we were destroyed like that. I was just sad. I just walked away without saying a word and went to bed.
That night, I had terrible nightmares of rapid waters and dangerous arrows. Subliminally, subconsciously, my sadness turned to hate, anger, and a thirst for eventual revenge.