The Battleground
Some conflicts never end
The Man stood in the middle of the field, feeling absurdly like an over-dressed scarecrow in his white suit. Overhead, the autumn sky was turning bruised, red and purple, as the light leached out of the world.
A figure emerged at the far end of the field. The Man hadn’t seen him arrive, just a black silhouette coalescing against the darkening sky. He walked now, though. Towards The Man.
The Man checked his pocket. After a few false starts and fumbling around, he retrieved a pocket watch from within and clicked it open.
And then The Man in Black was in front of him.
“A black suit, really?” said The Man, snapping his pocket watch closed.
The Man in Black gave an easy shrug. “I’m going for a look. Besides…”
“What?” The Man looked down at his own clothes. “This doesn’t count. I’ve always worn whi… You’re trying to distract me. Stop it.”
The Man in Black smiled his mirthless smile, like a wolf baring its teeth.
“Why are we meeting here?” The Man said, stuffing his watch back into his pocket.
The Man in Black shrugged again, infuriatingly casual. “You choose the when, I choose the where.”
