Hey Everybody,
I submitted to a small flash fiction thing…I like it.
48. One Among Many
Argon didn’t know the sky could be so large. Every horizon where the ground ended, the night sky began—flecks of white and yellow cascading along a tapestry of black and blue. The taste of salt and iron like rust and bile was strong in his mouth as he licked his lips. The bloodlust had taken him again as he had seen the army rushing like termites fleeing from a broken stump toward him and his brothers. In each hand, he had held a short sword, his leather gloves had creaked as they clutched the hilts, knuckles white and palms slicked with sweat. Twenty-seven, by his count, had fallen to his swords when one lucky bastard slipped under his guard and caught him in the guts. That taste, like rust and iron, exploded in his mouth as his legs buckled. Collapsing to his knees, he thrust a wild counter-attack, taking the warrior’s throat with the point of his blade; number twenty-eight.
The cacophony of battle echoed around him for moments longer as the last of his brethren joined him on the ground. Argon had never thought about his death, never considered it for a moment until now. Grunts of exertion and cries of pain grew closer as the dying became the dead. A small circle of stars went black as the head of a man with hair like sunshine eclipsed them. With eyes blacker than the evening sky, he looked down on Argon.
“You’ve seen your last day, friend.” The man said as he slipped the point of a stiletto into Argon’s left eye. The pain, sharp and hot, lasted only a moment and was gone. With one final shudder, Argon exhaled as his spirit left him. One among many in life; one among many in death.
by J.L. Scritchfield
Source: The Battle of the Bards Flash Fiction Writing Contest
Someday I’ll get back into the swing of blogging again…
But until that day…
-scritch out.
Son of a Scritch 