Post by Wilhelm Opens-the-Way on Jul 3, 2010 16:57:23 GMT -8
I stand strong and defiant before the man who commands my obediance. I am a wolf-boy of seven, and I carry an officer's sword in my hands. His sword.
The man's medals gleam in the candle-light of the hall. He wears the uniform of a British officer. There is barely enough light from their guttering tallow to see by in the large hall, but still the man seems to sneer at the necessity. His hair is white, his mein regal. My fur is matted with mud, as I was caught out in the rain on my nightly run. I am seven years old and it is April in the year 1940.
The man strikes at me with the business end of a broomstick. I am too slow to swing the officer's blade to my left and the broom hits me in the shoulder. I grunt in pain.
"Slow boy," growls the man, "You'll have to do better than that to survive when the Nazi's come for you."
He struck twice more, light strikes to test my reactions. I met his stick with the blade, still defiant. The third strike was hard, a jab to my chest that slipped easily through my awkward defense. I stumbled back, losing my grip on the sword and fell. I lay on the ground and groaned a moment, rubbing my chest where a bright red bump was forming.
"GET UP!" the man shouted. "Get to your feet you lazy half-breed bastard! Take the sword in your hand and defend yourself, I command you!"
I wept, but I did as I was bidden. I climbed to my feet, my breath hurting as my chest expanded and contracted against the bump on my chest that was quickly darkening to a deep purple. I went for the sword. He cracked me on the shoulderblades as I bent over, sending me sprawling.
I looked up, tears of anger and confusion falling hotly down my face.
"But I thought you wanted me to go to the swor-"
"All warfare is based on deception boy. Don't you ever forget that. Sun Tsu. If you are going to be stealing books, you should read something worth reading," he spat, "Not some useless fairy stories."
I whispered, barely audibly the next koan in the text, "Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him."
"What?" Said the man, panting with incredulity.
He never beat me again after that.
The man's medals gleam in the candle-light of the hall. He wears the uniform of a British officer. There is barely enough light from their guttering tallow to see by in the large hall, but still the man seems to sneer at the necessity. His hair is white, his mein regal. My fur is matted with mud, as I was caught out in the rain on my nightly run. I am seven years old and it is April in the year 1940.
The man strikes at me with the business end of a broomstick. I am too slow to swing the officer's blade to my left and the broom hits me in the shoulder. I grunt in pain.
"Slow boy," growls the man, "You'll have to do better than that to survive when the Nazi's come for you."
He struck twice more, light strikes to test my reactions. I met his stick with the blade, still defiant. The third strike was hard, a jab to my chest that slipped easily through my awkward defense. I stumbled back, losing my grip on the sword and fell. I lay on the ground and groaned a moment, rubbing my chest where a bright red bump was forming.
"GET UP!" the man shouted. "Get to your feet you lazy half-breed bastard! Take the sword in your hand and defend yourself, I command you!"
I wept, but I did as I was bidden. I climbed to my feet, my breath hurting as my chest expanded and contracted against the bump on my chest that was quickly darkening to a deep purple. I went for the sword. He cracked me on the shoulderblades as I bent over, sending me sprawling.
I looked up, tears of anger and confusion falling hotly down my face.
"But I thought you wanted me to go to the swor-"
"All warfare is based on deception boy. Don't you ever forget that. Sun Tsu. If you are going to be stealing books, you should read something worth reading," he spat, "Not some useless fairy stories."
I whispered, barely audibly the next koan in the text, "Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him."
"What?" Said the man, panting with incredulity.
He never beat me again after that.
