Write Now: This Is Not Power
Before the family got home, I saw a tweet from writer Aliya S. King that said, "Write something NOW. Continue from last night. Or not. Do something that comes out of you at THIS moment. email it 2 me ..." So I did. This is what came out, first draft, no editing, as wife and child came in the door and I cleaned up for the evening."I stand in your fire and laugh!"
Neil held in his intestines by more will than any physical endeavor, although his left arm stayed close to his lean, bleeding abdomen while his right hand held the katana almost like an afterthought, its blade broken at the tip. Threads from his frayed blue sweater blew in the breeze of battle.
The Alabaster Prince chuckled mere yards away, a broadsword swinging in an arc, passed between his hands, his chalk white armor unmarred save some tiny flecks of dust along the boots. Neil's spellcasting had scorched the ground around the warlord, and fires lit in the sky still burned, but the enemy was undeterred.
"This ... is not power ..." Neil managed, his brown lips dry and cracking. Breathing heavily, he tried to stand upright, show some defiance, but slumped into leaning on the broken sword, stuck into the ground.
"Still steeped in the confidence of complacency," the Prince laughed, his booming voice like a slap in the face. "You were so sure, weren't you? Now, you will die like your forefathers before you."
Baring hungry white teeth, the Alabaster Prince stepped forward with his right foot and never even saw the ward carved in the ground beneath the ashes. Without another word, he was flash frozen into a monument of ice, a man shaped statue.
"Know the field of battle ..." Neil coughed, blood spraying from his open mouth, "... asshole."
Without another word, Neil fell over at the Alabaster Prince's feet and bled silently as the skies returned to a shade of blue.
Playing (Music): "In Your Head" by Jason DeRulo
Labels: fiction, microfiction, writing
posted by Hannibal Tabu, The Operative at
9:14 PM
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