Flash Fiction Friday: How Warren Got His Groove Back

      “All you have to do is pull the sword from the sheath.  It’s not rocket science, Deeling.”

      “Just a purely physical observation, Warren, but I can’t pull the sword out of its sheath if I can’t get to the sword in the first place.  And while it’s not rocket science, there are some logistics, are there not?”

      Warren smiled.  “Of course there are, but that’s nothing for you to worry yourself over.  I’ll kick open the door and man-handle any fool dumb enough to get in my way.  While I’m doing that, you simply need to move yourself to where the sword is in your, how do you say it, physical hands.  Easy.”

      Deeling opened her mouth to protest, but was cut short.  Literally.  She grunted as she fell, the top three-quarters of her body hitting the stone floor with a thud.  Her legs, she noticed, were still standing erect.  A knight stood just beyond her, his broadsword gleaming.

      Deeling screamed.  Warren had his weapons out in about two-hundred milliseconds.  He was always quick, like the brown fox that has been known to jump over lazy dogs from time to time.  Metal clashed on metal, but Warren Deadlyblades didn’t flinch at the discordant noise.  He moved with grace and precision, a lethal weapon bloodthirsty.  He leapt over his fallen partner (“Sorry, Dee!”), forcing the knight’s retreat.

      “Thou canst win,” said the knight, but to Warren’s berserker rage he misheard the man and took it as a compliment.

      “I know I can, fool.  And you will pay for what you’ve done to my partner.  If you’ve harmed her…” 

      The evil black knight laughed.  “Methinks I have, knave.  And I shall smite thee, too.  Hiyah!” Warren spun, catching the knight’s sword on the tines of his sai.  Worry crossed the knight’s visage; fury crossed it when Warren plunged his dagger into the man’s chest; pain blossomed into view lastly, and the knight collapsed in a heap.

      “And that’s why you don’t play with sharp things,” Warren said, though his catchphrase sounded forced this time.  Perhaps he’d been using it for too long.  He sheathed his dagger and sai and knelt to console his partner.  Deeling was still alive, but she didn’t look like she could hang on for much longer.

      “Listen,” she was saying.  “I never got to tell you about the time my friend Lucy baked me the pecan pie with the raisins in it.  She swore they were currants, but I saw through her lies.  But it was Lucy that told me about the prophecy and the sword.”  Deeling coughed, winced, gasped, and resumed.  “I don’t think I’ll forgive her, Warren.  Maybe I’ll haunt her when I’m gone.”

      “There there,” Warren said.  “You’re gonna be just fine.  We’ll put some wheels on you and you’ll be twice as fast as me.  Maybe even hook up some motors or something, eh?  It’s not rocket science.”

      Deeling grimaced.  “But it is, Warren.  That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.  It is.  Can’t you—oh.”  Warren shook his head.  A single tear fell from his left eye.

      “I will avenge you, Deeling.  I will avenge you.”

      And he did just that.

      Well, he tried, anyway, and that’s what really matters.  Results aren’t nearly as important as effort, right?  He didn't get the sword, but that's unimportant.  And the world did end prematurely due to his failure, but prematurity matters little when dealing with geologic epochs.  Had their mission succeeded the world might have survived another few thousand millenia, but who's to say?  Certainly not Warren Deadlyblades.

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Mostly an attempt at absurdity and humor.  Written primarily because I haven't done any creative writing in far too long.