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