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15minuteficlets
And yes, I did do this in fifteen minutes. Go me. :-)
(In case you're wondering, I'm still percolating on the longer pieces. These are just stretches.)
Today's word: Competiton.
"First to three wins. En garde."
He stared across the flat, slategrey concrete deck into the dark eyes of his opponent. Josh, as usual, was smirking, brash, arrogant. He could still feel the wetprint Emily's lips had made on his cheek, and he raised his weapon, sworn to defend her, hearing the echo of his own voice in his head ... faint heart never won fair lady...
They saluted each other, and began.
The pool noodle was heavier than his usual foil, of course, but he could tell it was setting Josh off balance as well, just ever so slightly. He parried, dodging the long reach of the green noodle, but not fast enough.
Had to be faster. Everett, one-nothing.
Fortunately, that was evened up almost immediately; Josh's arrogance on scoring the first touch almost always got the best of him. Giving it to him as a throwaway was a tactic Anthony had used in the past to his own advantage.
Tie: one-one.
His own orange noodle fllicked and darted through the air, thwacking dully against the green; he stepped back and away, left, scoring a second touch with a quick lunge.
Donovan, two-one. Now was the time to be vigilant, not lazy, but careful; he could either win it or throw away a one-point lead.
Josh's footwork had improved over the summer. He felt the weighty thud of the green noodle on his shoulder and winced internally - that would hurt in the morning, these were more hefty than people thought. The smirk was almost palpable now, he didn't need to look across the deck into those sneering hazel eyes.
Two-two.
Josh always played to win. Fine. So did he.
For some reason, he glanced over at Emily leaning forward, the sun dappling her brown curly hair, face intent and pleading, eyes wide, hopeful - and ducked, backstepping and leaning to the left, prodding desperately at the air, using the momentum in the long orange noodle, hooking and thwacking Josh's shoulder with a last triumphant jab.
The tubes fell to the deck entwined, and they shook hands; but for a bare halfsecond, Anthony felt he detected just the slightest aura of anger, envy, discontent in the eyes of Joshua Everett, and a chill ran down his spine.
(In case you're wondering, I'm still percolating on the longer pieces. These are just stretches.)
Today's word: Competiton.
"First to three wins. En garde."
He stared across the flat, slategrey concrete deck into the dark eyes of his opponent. Josh, as usual, was smirking, brash, arrogant. He could still feel the wetprint Emily's lips had made on his cheek, and he raised his weapon, sworn to defend her, hearing the echo of his own voice in his head ... faint heart never won fair lady...
They saluted each other, and began.
The pool noodle was heavier than his usual foil, of course, but he could tell it was setting Josh off balance as well, just ever so slightly. He parried, dodging the long reach of the green noodle, but not fast enough.
Had to be faster. Everett, one-nothing.
Fortunately, that was evened up almost immediately; Josh's arrogance on scoring the first touch almost always got the best of him. Giving it to him as a throwaway was a tactic Anthony had used in the past to his own advantage.
Tie: one-one.
His own orange noodle fllicked and darted through the air, thwacking dully against the green; he stepped back and away, left, scoring a second touch with a quick lunge.
Donovan, two-one. Now was the time to be vigilant, not lazy, but careful; he could either win it or throw away a one-point lead.
Josh's footwork had improved over the summer. He felt the weighty thud of the green noodle on his shoulder and winced internally - that would hurt in the morning, these were more hefty than people thought. The smirk was almost palpable now, he didn't need to look across the deck into those sneering hazel eyes.
Two-two.
Josh always played to win. Fine. So did he.
For some reason, he glanced over at Emily leaning forward, the sun dappling her brown curly hair, face intent and pleading, eyes wide, hopeful - and ducked, backstepping and leaning to the left, prodding desperately at the air, using the momentum in the long orange noodle, hooking and thwacking Josh's shoulder with a last triumphant jab.
The tubes fell to the deck entwined, and they shook hands; but for a bare halfsecond, Anthony felt he detected just the slightest aura of anger, envy, discontent in the eyes of Joshua Everett, and a chill ran down his spine.