fantasy and the Unfair Advantage

January 2, 2014

He ducked and spun stretching out his arms in an attempt to use centrifugal inertia to add force to the strike without having to shift his balance or stop moving. Whatever he did he knew he could not stop moving; it would mean his death. He knew that if he paused even for a moment the exhaustion would overwhelm him and he would collapse to be devoured. 

Certainly the beast’s underbelly would be softer. There had to be vulnerability somewhere: a gap in the time thickened armor, a softer fold in its callused skin. In the years he had battled it, he had seen it bleed, even retreat; a few times almost long enough for him to catch his breath. But it always came back. Sometimes raging, sometimes slow and insidious though whether he saw it coming from a distance or it came crashing in an instant; he could never get the upper hand. And now, he was no longer sure if the great beast could ever fall. Even if he pierced its chest, he did not know where its strange anatomy housed its heart. Still, he must continue to fight or die.

He stumbled, his strength failed him for a moment but as the death stroke came down he rolled into a crouch and dove beneath it only to glance off what he had hoped was a soft spot. He regained his feet and was back into amorphous motion. His mind numb with the effort. The fight was becoming harder: the beast came to battle more often and stayed longer, the attacks fiercer and more frequent. He didn’t know if the beast was growing stronger or if it was the constant battle sapping him, destroying his creativity, pounding away his ability to not fall into patterns that the beast could read and use to destroy him. He felt he was losing himself to this endless battle, losing himself even if he won the fight.

 His wife was approaching. He felt her presence even as his focus remained on the beast. He felt the need for increased action to save her from even the sight of this ugly battle.

 She stood, a silhouette in the doorway looking in to the darkened room. The screen had gone from bubbles to black with lack of use. He was there sitting in the old chair rolled back from the desk; his head in his hands, his breathing ragged.
She knew that the battle must be fierce tonight.
She went to him tired but determined gently putting her hand on his shoulder and her lips on his temple. She scooted into his lap displacing his elbows and held him to her chest resting her chin on his head.

He didn’t resist. He wrapped his arms around her.

They rocked slowly, silently waging war together.

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One Response to “fantasy and the Unfair Advantage”

  1. Lindsey Says:

    I’m really glad you posted this.


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