Nonfiction/Historical Fiction Contest Entries

SmackDown ROUND 1.2

Papa did not wish for me to fight.

He cleaned his spearhead with chilling clarity, sharpened it with long, even strokes of the stone. Mama had been working on his going away meal all day long. Even little Anselm was "helping" by bringing Papa's various weapons to him and babbling happily when Papa would accept and place them in the growing pile at his feet.

I, however, had nothing to do except mentally prepare for battle tomorrow. And Papa said I could not even fight.

I watched him sullenly from the bench opposite his. My closest friends would be going to fight - their fathers trusted them. Whenever they talked about the approaching battle, eyes gleaming with excitement and fingers working with nervous energy, I would drift to the back of the conversation, a silent listener, shamed by my father's decree.

"Why can't I fight?" I asked for the millionth time.

"We've been over this," my father replied stonily. The stone chinked against metal. "If something were to happen to me, you would become the man of the house. Your mother would need you here."

"All my friends are going to fight!"

"All your friends have other siblings who are staying behind."

"Not Hansel. All the children in his family are going to fight."

"Then they might very well leave their mother all alone in this world. Would you want to do that to your mother?"

"She'd have Anselm," I pointed out.

"I would prefer both of my children, if possible," my mother contributed dryly from across the yard.

I sighed, slouching back and letting the cool spring air ruffle my hair.

*

That night, we were all quiet, although Mama put on the most optimistic front she could. "I have prayed to the gods," she announced at the end of the meal, "and they will spare your father. I can feel it." She stood to clear away our dishes, pressing a kiss to Papa's temple.

Anslem babbled happily. I stirred the remnants of my stew in silence.

*

The morning dawned bright and early. We were up with the birds as per usual.

I shuffled sadly to the door, following Papa, who was laden with weapons. He hadn't been able to bring all of his blades, but as he said, "It's for the best. It'll leave you with some protection."

"You truly think the battle will stray this far?" Mama asked nervously.

"No," he replied, "but it's good to be prepared."

And then he was gone.

I stood at the door, watching him until he vanished over a hill. Then I turned back to Mama and Anselm. The former was holding the latter, cooing at him.

"I'm going to go visit other families. See how everyone else is doing," I told Mama.

She glanced up at me and smiled. "Oh, how sweet. Be back soon."

I nodded and, as soon as her back was turned, grabbed Papa's sword from beside the door, an old one that he had since outgrown. It fit my grip perfectly.

I dashed after my father, but as soon as I could see his striding form again, I slowed down so I could remain undetected.

It was a short walk to the river. As soon as I saw the restless troops, I snuck behind a bush, making sure my sword was prepared.

My father joined a small group of men, all of whom greeted him with a hearty clap on the back. The large smiles on their faces made me hopeful. It made me feel that the outcome of this battle was already decided, and the gods had chosen in our favor.

Papa's small group of friends was not even a fraction of the total soldiers. All of the men and many of the boys from our villages and the ones nearby had shown up to defend this land. It made my blood boil again, that I had not been allowed to fight when all the other capable young men had.

I would show Papa. I would fight and help us win victory.

Our men fell silent and all turned towards something, grave expressions falling over their faces. Smiles fell from lips and laughter died midair.

I tried to see what they were all looking at, propping myself up to peer around the other side of the bush.

There was another army approaching, streaked with war paint and anger. I couldn't tell whether they were truly that much larger than our army, or if my fear was adding extra men to their forces.

Either way, they were formidable opponents.

A man riding a horse stepped forward, the horse flicking its tail irritably. The beast's gargantuan breaths puffed out in large, ominous clouds. He shouted something to our troops, but I was too far away to quite hear what he was saying.

A horseback rider from our side came forward, replying to the man's words with indignant ones of his own. It rallied our men and a cheer rose into the thin morning air.

The enemy surged forward and the battle began.

I watched in horror as our men began falling, trampled under the feet of allies and opponents alike. Some men didn't die, not right away, and since nobody had yet spotted me, I was free to watch as they writhed and screamed, begging for someone to help them or, alternatively, put them out of their misery.

I had lost sight my father in the fray and could only hope he was faring better than those poor souls.

It was then that I realized why Papa had truly not wanted me to fight. He had wanted to spare me from these horrific sights, sounds, smells.

And I had disobeyed his direct orders.

I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed for it all to be over.