There’s not much to say this week… I enjoyed the entries a
lot and the two winning stories are near to perfection. Well done everyone!
Runner Up
Angie with “Honor in dying”
I love the imagery.
I’d shorten the paragraphs to add to the tension, though.
Winner Y2W45
Bill Engleson with “The Art Class of War”
Excellent story. I
love the twist!
The Art Class of
War
Two thousand warriors drew their swords for a war they would not win.
It was downright embarrassing.
“Two thousand,” I explode. “TWO THOUSAND!”
“Shush, Moog,” someone says from a desk, three rows over. It’s Gorge the Hammer. I give Gorgie my best battle-weary finger and whisper, “You’re fine with this?”
“Shush, both of you,” someone further back chimes in. And then that shush-happy soldier adds, “Stick to the task at hand.”
“Frigging Pols,” I mutter, and return to my sketch, remembering how this all came about.
Was it only a month ago that General Scourge revealed the new policy from our superiors.
“Men,” he had said, in that deep gravelly voice that we all associated with the glory of attack, “We are in uncharted waters. Glimp the Younger, Prime Minister of Dampmania, has decreed that the glorious battles of yore, the ones once fought bravely, ferociously, and quite bloodily by our fathers and their fathers are no more. It is said that Glimp the Younger could not sleep one snowy night a few months ago. He went for a walk and upon reaching a small hill had an epiphany…”
“A what?” I blurted out.
“Moog. Is that you interrupting me?” the General demanded to know. The boar fat was in the fire now, I thought.
“Yes, my General. Two Thousand apologies.”
“You still have one serviceable ear, right Moog?”
“Yes, my General. Most of it.”
“Then use it. Listen and learn. Glimp saw the future. Our fighting men, all earless. All limbless. He saw that war would continue but perhaps Dampmania could profit by it, provision the armies of the world who continue to engage in pointless bloodshed.”
“Phooey,” I had said.
That was last month.
I refocus and continue drawing the Moog Blade.
It will be a masterful prototype.
Two thousand warriors drew their swords for a war they would not win.
It was downright embarrassing.
“Two thousand,” I explode. “TWO THOUSAND!”
“Shush, Moog,” someone says from a desk, three rows over. It’s Gorge the Hammer. I give Gorgie my best battle-weary finger and whisper, “You’re fine with this?”
“Shush, both of you,” someone further back chimes in. And then that shush-happy soldier adds, “Stick to the task at hand.”
“Frigging Pols,” I mutter, and return to my sketch, remembering how this all came about.
Was it only a month ago that General Scourge revealed the new policy from our superiors.
“Men,” he had said, in that deep gravelly voice that we all associated with the glory of attack, “We are in uncharted waters. Glimp the Younger, Prime Minister of Dampmania, has decreed that the glorious battles of yore, the ones once fought bravely, ferociously, and quite bloodily by our fathers and their fathers are no more. It is said that Glimp the Younger could not sleep one snowy night a few months ago. He went for a walk and upon reaching a small hill had an epiphany…”
“A what?” I blurted out.
“Moog. Is that you interrupting me?” the General demanded to know. The boar fat was in the fire now, I thought.
“Yes, my General. Two Thousand apologies.”
“You still have one serviceable ear, right Moog?”
“Yes, my General. Most of it.”
“Then use it. Listen and learn. Glimp saw the future. Our fighting men, all earless. All limbless. He saw that war would continue but perhaps Dampmania could profit by it, provision the armies of the world who continue to engage in pointless bloodshed.”
“Phooey,” I had said.
That was last month.
I refocus and continue drawing the Moog Blade.
It will be a masterful prototype.
Thank you all for participating!
Until Saturday...
I had a good time with this prompt. Many thanks.
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