Wednesday 12 November 2014

Brave Soul

By Aline-Mwezi Niyonsenga

My arms stretched back, muscles pulled taut high over my head as I rolled my neck around. Closing my eyes, I sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a tremoring wind like the sound of a rattling window frame when a train passes. Though my heartbeat quickened and my hands shook, I kept breathing until my eyes finally opened again and I faced my enemy.
I’m scared, I thought, shivering. So scared.
That’s how it grew. Throbbing with light at the sound of my aching thoughts, the sword in my right hand scraped the ground with its point. I raised it up, slowly. Will it be enough? I wondered, arm shaking. Will I be able to pierce it? My heart quivered. Probably not, my thoughts panicked. When have I been known to pierce? How will I even do it? Is my sword that sharp? What if I miss?
That’s when I knew: my thoughts worried over the finely pointed tip more than they worried over my aim. Questions of what if I miss or how will I do it were just stalling walls against my body’s undeniable strength.
One thrust should do it, I realized. One thrust would break the walls and pierce my enemy in one blow.
I took a ragged breath. Really? I wondered. One blow? That sharp? I glanced at my sword’s gleaming point and again hesitated, wondering what it would feel like to stab it through soft jelly and see wine spill out. Would it hurt? Would I hurt? What if I did? What if I completely failed because it was the completely wrong thing to do? I bit my lip, biting back tears, biting my eyelids shut.
I’m scared, I thought, shuddering. So scared.
The sword radiated heat in my hand and I clutched its hilt. I would do it. Just do it. Surging forward, my arm thrust and shattered the stalling walls, behind which stood my enemy, an unmoving white shape glaring in the darkness. My sword ran it clean through and I twisted, only to see ink sliding down its frame. In one savage move, I yanked my sword out and watched as more ink splattered all over the white and showered me with its taint. Absently wiping it from my face, I glanced at the back of my hand to see that the smear spelled ‘intuitive.’ Glancing at my enemy, now vanquished in ink, I scanned it until I found the word ‘imaginative.’ Wiping my hand against it, I effectively replaced the idea before exhaling sullenly.

I’ll just submit this, I thought. It’ll have to be enough.

1 comment:

  1. Ah, an enemy I know all too well! If only I could vanquish mine in the same way :)


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