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TO NOT LOVE IS TO DIE
On the ledge, two men with drawn swords. One with his sword raised to arm level pointing at the other. The wrinkle on the forehead and with his face forward from his neck and a heavy breathing, the frustration cannot be unseen. “Fall in love or die,” he barked, ruining for a moment the well bred moustache that ran to the side of his brittle lips painted with the pigment of rage.
“It is death then,” the second gentleman replied with a head high and a lofty voice to match. The smile curled to the corner of his cheek accompanied by the quick exhalation from his narrow nostrils screamed confidence. Holding his sword slightly far from his right hip with a loose grip, he raised the blade a bit closer as if to admire the beauty of his face. The shiny steel complied immediately as it trapped the gaze of his eyes gleaming with the touch of the evening sun and did not waste time to reflect a compliment.
Moving his blade closer to his face with a two-handed grip, his moustache concealed behind the weapon, Arkhano smiled, the wrinkle in the skin by the eye told of agony. He shut the eyes with the aim to shut away the sentiment. Blinded to the remnant of light the dying sun gave, he said calmly “Friend, I always knew you to be hard-headed, but I regret that you have to die by this blade that joins us in brotherhood. I shall do what I must.”
The smile vanished, the eyes shot straight at the opposition, nothing to tell how really he felt. Balls of tear droplets formed in the corner of the iris. The fingers moved around the hilt of the well fashioned steel, fingers following one after the other to experience a last intimate touch with the wood. A heavy breath. “We lived as friends, as brothers. You have chosen to love and I have chosen to die. It is my dying wish that I die as your friend,” the blade raised to conceal his nose and mouth, parting the eyes to see from the dimension of the steel “Let’s make it quick. Let us quit the talking and move to the fighting…” and as the second hand joined the first at the hilt, the smile crept up again. He uttered “and to the dying as well.”
They both ran in for the kiss of death.
© Jegdy
“It is death then,” the second gentleman replied with a head high and a lofty voice to match. The smile curled to the corner of his cheek accompanied by the quick exhalation from his narrow nostrils screamed confidence. Holding his sword slightly far from his right hip with a loose grip, he raised the blade a bit closer as if to admire the beauty of his face. The shiny steel complied immediately as it trapped the gaze of his eyes gleaming with the touch of the evening sun and did not waste time to reflect a compliment.
Moving his blade closer to his face with a two-handed grip, his moustache concealed behind the weapon, Arkhano smiled, the wrinkle in the skin by the eye told of agony. He shut the eyes with the aim to shut away the sentiment. Blinded to the remnant of light the dying sun gave, he said calmly “Friend, I always knew you to be hard-headed, but I regret that you have to die by this blade that joins us in brotherhood. I shall do what I must.”
The smile vanished, the eyes shot straight at the opposition, nothing to tell how really he felt. Balls of tear droplets formed in the corner of the iris. The fingers moved around the hilt of the well fashioned steel, fingers following one after the other to experience a last intimate touch with the wood. A heavy breath. “We lived as friends, as brothers. You have chosen to love and I have chosen to die. It is my dying wish that I die as your friend,” the blade raised to conceal his nose and mouth, parting the eyes to see from the dimension of the steel “Let’s make it quick. Let us quit the talking and move to the fighting…” and as the second hand joined the first at the hilt, the smile crept up again. He uttered “and to the dying as well.”
They both ran in for the kiss of death.
© Jegdy
