The Duel

I stood there. The next few minutes would decide my fate. Would I lose my life or would I be horribly injured? Twenty Paces. Honor. Respect. Is that what I’m here for? What does honor and respect mean when you have lost your life or taken another’s for the cause.

One. Two…

         I feel dizzy. Everything and everyone was quiet. I could only hear my steps and that of my opponent’s. I wonder what type of person he is. Does he have a family? Does he wonder who I am? I barely knew this man and yet we were to be irrevocably tied, the blood of one on the other.

         Three.
         
         The pumping of my heart drowned out all sound. Of course, I’m confident in my skill but this wasn’t training or a simple game. My dignity was at stake, but was life the price to pay to preserve my dignity? I have settled my affairs, but so much seems wanting as I take these steps. What would they tell her if I died? Would she ever forgive me if I killed someone?

         Four. Five…
         
         I can feel the ground beneath my feet. The sand is kicked up into the air as I walk by. It seems to taunt humanity as if it’s part of a great joke and we are the victims. Within the silence, I can see the spectators mesmerized as if this was some sort of magic trick. I have a purpose to be here. Don’t I? But they have no reason at all; only a grizzly fascination with honor and death, reminding me of the ancient Roman gladiators. They fought for their lives and, at the end, the turn of one thumb could change everything. Should I be here? But if I ran, my fate would have been better to die; rather die with honor than become a coward. Isn’t it better?

         Six…

         The smell of blood and anticipation is in the air. It flares my nostrils and heightens my senses. I can smell the carnage that has taken place here. Men have died with honor. This is a place to be respected. Isn’t it? Fallen men have left a legacy of dignity but defeat. Now, all I smell is death. I don’t see their lives, their reasons, only the tainted ground that I am now part of.

         Seven… 

         What if he falls? My legacy will be that of a hero, a winner. Yet will my hands be colored red with blood? Will I drive myself to hysteria with guilt and regret? But according to the world, I would be a hero. I would have my honor restored. But will I see it that way? Will she see it that way? It is too late to wonder now. The question that remains is who will it be?

         Eight…

         The silence has left. I can now hear the voices of the crowd. Cheering? All I hear are demonic howls that drive me to sin. But it’s not sin; it’s the way of the world. Isn’t it? My steps take me farther from my prey, yet I have never felt so close to him. I wish he would run. Does he wish I would run? Would we have been friends if the young brute didn’t insult my reputation? Why must we both suffer for youthful arrogance and indiscretion? I must clear my thoughts. I am here to purge my demons. Yet the surrounding crowd seems more demonic than the threats of my prey, shivering, and perhaps praying, for his own life. Trying to purge his own demons. Earning his own respect and honor.

         Nine…

         It’s almost time. My pistol is itching to be used. Who ever thought the place of a duel could be time for reflection. How can I think when someone will die in a few minutes? I had thought that I would act purely on instinct but my mind is as perceptive as the body. Everyone seems quiet. I can taste the silence just like I can taste blood and death. I have made my decision. He has made his. One step. One bullet. I lift my gun. It’s time. It is either him or me.

         Ten…


The End