Silence

Steel rang as the broadswords connected. Small stones and dirt were ground underfoot as the two combatants shifted their position. They were of equal height, equal build, and equal prowess. Neither could gain advantage and neither gave an inch. A beautiful but frightful dance as metal and limb wound and twist. A wild swing and a frantic repose brought an unsettling peace to the desperate production. A quiet moment of reflection and contemplation. A crunch in the dirt was the signal from the unseen conductor as the two fighters did not hesitate. The quick thrusts were met with equally proficient deflections and parries, steel slid across steel as the blades produced a haunting, echoing ring that resounded through trees, stone, flesh, and bone.

The exchange had been mere seconds, yet hours passed with each new note added to the concert. Sweat now beaded on their brow, their breaths shallow and quick. How long had they been in this struggle? Hours, maybe even days? There was a rhythm to the gasps, each inhale told of the strain, the determination, and the fear. Each exhale was an affirmation of the will to see this through, the need to finish this. Again, the signal came as a step was taken, who moved forward first would be impossible to determine as in perfect unison the two fighters crashed into each other.

The performance was coming to its final act, they both knew that but there was no way to be sure of who would be the victor. The cacophony of each cut rang out as it was met with a promptly executed block and each counter chimed as it was tapped aside by a swift interception. A slow roll of percussion could now be heard. Faintly, yet obvious. Slowly growing, relaying the ominous realization of the coming finale. Their hearts each pulsed, audible to themselves but not the other, yet still beating in an identical cadence. They thrummed, fueling the sudden shifts as they rocked back and forth. One’s left becoming the other’s right and alternating in a storm of deadly grace.

The chorus rose to a crescendo with each cymbal and hammer. Their muscles ached, their lungs burned, their blood rushed. The torrent surged until it threatened to consume them both. A shift of the hand, an old injury, a weakening guard.

Silence.