streaks across my psychedelic sky

This Thing I Do

Posted on: October 3, 2005

I had my war paint on. I was ready for some blood. I will not tolerate being treated like some half-wit.

There we were face to face but not really seeing each other. Or was that just optical illusion? He actually looked like he was weary and wanted no part in the skirmish I had set my mind on.

And the war dance began. I threw my spears, not wanting to give him a chance to breathe between throws. He drew his shield and tried to sidestep and dodge to protect himself. I got ready to take on whatever he would dish out. He is cunning and I felt, deep in my gut, that he would do something that would be totally unexpected.

True enough, he didn't launch a counter-attack. Instead, he came forward, weapons not drawn, looked me in the eye and asked why I insisted in waging war, choosing to fight rather than settle things amicably, peacefully. For a full minute I was speechless. I just stared at him. Slowly, I felt my cheeks begin to burn.

Why, indeed, was I fighting? For my honor? For my perceived injusry? For pride?

I couldn't get my throat to work. I put down my weapons and slowly backed away, leaving him with a puzzled look on his face. No explanation….and with my armor still intact.

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