Fictioneers Writing Contest (Man v Man) - Heroes

Heroes

 
The captain crouched, a shadow among shadows. “Critchett, you got your part?”

Critchett nods my direction. “Keep eyes on the new guy. Don’t let him die.”

“You hear that, new guy? Critchett’s going to keep you breathing. And what are you going to do?”

“Nobody gets past me, sir. If the hero comes out the back, he’s mine.”

That’s what we call them – heroes. And they probably are, to somebody.

---

The door bursts open spitting forth a man who runs straight at me. I see the knife so I rise to fire. Not fast enough. The two of us tumble against the wall. He’s on top of me, and I feel the knife go into my belly. It hurts, but there’s no time for pain. Ignoring it, I grab his arms.

I look up at the hero – see fear in his eyes. He’s screaming in some foreign language. I kick up my body like they taught me in training. He loses balance and the knife comes out. I kick up again but he’s ready.

He’s small but scrappy. His empty hand works free and punches me in the face twice before I can grab it again. I haven’t hit him once.

He stops struggling and drops forward. His forehead clunks against my nose. I hear it splinter, feel the pain. Blood fills my eyes. I roll hard to the left, then right, bucking my body against him, but his head comes down again. My lips break against my teeth.

Blood is everywhere, all mine. I taste it – smell it. I sense my death, and an unbridled fear rages into anger. All that matters is life.

I will not die. I kick his back with my knees, bucking and working my arms. He rides me like a big brother rides a writhing child. The hero might have the upper hand, but I never give him the advantage.

He drops the knife and brutally hits my face. Stunned, I stop struggling for a moment.

His head comes down again but I dodge to the side, rolling hard. He rolls with me, so I knee him in his groin. He forces the roll to continue, pinning me beneath him. He raises his head to bash mine again. I get ready to roll.

Out of the blurry background the butt end of Critchett’s rifle comes down on his head with a distinct crack. He slumps onto me spilling more blood over my face. Not mine, this time.

---

“You okay, newbie?” Critchett is a harsh shadow against the backdrop of stars.

My nose is broken, my lips are split, and I have a small hole in my gut. But I don’t notice. I stare at the man on the ground. Blood steadily drains from the gash on his head.

“Is he alive?”

“Maybe.” Critchett coughs up something and spits it on the body. “Does it matter? Heroes die.”

---

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Thanks for reading my entry for the Fictioneers Writing Contest. The conflict prompt here is Man vs Man - I decided to take this as literally as I could.

There's no way - seriously, no way - I could have finished this story without help from The Writers Block. They gave me wonderful suggestions... and talked me out of writing this in the 2nd person. Yeah. I was gonna actually subject you to that. I'm sure that we all are happy they set me straight.

There is simply no group on steem that I admire more than The Writers' Block. Seriously, writers: If you have never experienced the benefits of having your work critiqued by professionals, people who really know what they're doing, what are you waiting for? Click the link - grow your skills. It's simple as that.