The Duel

Flash Fiction

The letter was unfolded and his eyes raced over the ill spelled words written before him. There would be a duel and it would be to the death. Crushing the page in his hand he cast it aside and stormed outside. He wanted a duel did he? Well he was certainly going to get one.

He pushed his way through the crowd, his hand at his hilt. Some tried to dissuade him, tried to make him believe the duel would end badly. It was too late. He’d made up his mind and with his chin held high he went. There was no trace of fear in his heart. He felt only a bruised pride that stung like a lash and consumed his senses.

He looked up into the sky. The sun shown brightly and warmed his flushed cheeks. The beautiful day was lost on him, only in remarking that it was a good day to die did he acknowledge the beauty that surrounded him.

The pure white and deep purple flowers in full bloom, the bright green of the tall trees in stark contrast to the pale blue sky appeared dark red and unlovely. The scent of Spring all around him was as scentless as rain water.

With every broad step, his face, considered handsome by many contorted in ugly anger. Every step was an annoyance, every foot he walked seemed to take an eternity. He stewed, miserable with spite.

He arrived after what seemed like eons and his hatred was made material as his nemesis strode to him.

The onlookers surrounded them and began to chant, fight, fight, fight!

The boys bowed and the schoolyard fell silent. They drew their toy swords and the crowd went wild.