The Corillian Affair

Written for the Writers Cramp Contest. Word count limit is 1,000.

The prompt is that the first line must be: "What a time to have forgotten my pencil."

The Corillian Affair

What a time to have forgotten my pencil.

Now it’s him or me; “him” being a four-hundred pound Corillian wearing a waiter’s apron.

“Fight to the death! Blood bath!”

Geez, talk about your hostile crowd. All I did was make one small faux pas and now Hans (Yes, his name is apparently Hans) is going to rip off my arms and legs.

I flashed back to an old flat-vid I saw once. Something called a “scarecrow” was laying on the ground saying, “They threw my legs over there and then they threw my arms over there.”

Really, that was my flashback; the last thing that went through my mind before Hans extracts a little Corillian justice. Apparently, I’m as bad at pre-death flashbacks as I am at mental math.

Yes, I said, “mental math.” That’s what got me into this mess. Of course I know it’s considered a major insult to not tip your waiter exactly twenty-one percent when paying at a Corillian diner. However, the battery was dead in my iPhone 3000. Plus, I probably didn’t have the calculator app anyway.

That’s when I noticed I didn’t have a pencil. No problem. So what if I didn’t pay exactly twenty-one percent. I’d pay twenty-five percent instead. I could calculate that in my head. Besides, no one’s going to complain about being over-tipped. Right?

Wrong – by about four hundred pounds.

Now Hans and I are circling each other warily. I’m armed with what I considered to be my most intimidating snarl. I also have a wooden spoon that I picked up off the floor for some reason after Hans threw my table across the room. Yes, my instincts for battle are...regressed.

Hans’ expression was difficult to read since his face was basically a single eye poised directly over a lipless mouth filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth. I did notice a bit of drool flowing out of the corner of his mouth; probably a Pavlovian response. Not good as far as omens go.

I noticed that he didn’t have a spoon of his own to fend off my pending attack. It probably never occurred to him that he might need to upgrade from his current arsenal of giant, clawed hands.

As we circled, I could hear the bets being bantered around in the crowd behind me.

“I’m giving five-hundred to one. Come on boys. Any takers?”

Give me a break. Five-hundred to one? Can’t they see I have a spoon? That’s got to count for something.

Hans gave a mighty bellow and I immediately wet myself. This did not go unnoticed by the crowd as roars of laughter filled the room. Above the ruckus, I heard someone shout out, “How about six-hundred to one?”

First a failed flashback and now total humiliation.

I’d had enough. I was ready to have this entire thing done and over. So I charged Hans with my spoon.

He never stood a chance. I might be small, but I’m fast. I was inside his guard so fast, he didn’t even bother to try and get out of the way. Once I was in close, I thrust my weapon right into where I assumed his heart might be.

The spoon snapped in half like a twig.

For a moment, Hans stood perfectly still; trying to absorb what had just happened. Then he threw his head back and either laughed or yodeled the Corillian fight song. From what I’ve heard, it’s hard to tell the difference between the two. Either way I’m doomed for sure.

My spoon-thrust hadn’t even scratched his armor-like skin.

I just stood there with my arms at my side. At least I tried.

Eventually, Hans settled back down. It was time to get down to business. He had his honor to protect, after all.

I felt his hands descend onto my shoulders like lead weights. I could feel my legs start to buckle from either fear or weakness or, did I say fear already? Before I could fall, I felt Hans lift me over his head and slowly start to twirl me as if he was some kind of giant aproned drum major.

The crowd loved it.

“Faster! Faster! Will anyone take a thousand to one?”

That was when I noticed what was left of my spoon. I could feel it in my hand. Interestingly, the part where the break had occurred was very sharp. That’s when I got my Big Idea.

If I could just poke him in the eye with the sharp end of the spoon, he’d be blind. That should bring an end to this horrible nightmare.

Since I was over his head, his eye was only a foot or so away; easily within reach. I fought the considerable centrifugal force his twirling had generated and brought my spoon up for an attack.

Just as I was about to strike, Hans sent me flying across the room. I crashed into the pastry display sending Corillian scones flying everywhere. My spoon, or what was left of it, had somehow disappeared in the crash. Now it was certainly over.

I was ready. This had to have been my worst dining experience ever. Let him take me. I don’t care.

I could feel the freedom that comes with complete surrender. I had nothing left to lose. I could fall no further.

Somehow, this translated into a certain attitude of brashness. Let him kill me. I don’t care. In fact, I decided to eat the scone that I’d just noticed was resting on my chest. At least I wouldn’t die hungry.

Hans charged as I took a giant bite.

He skidded to an abrupt stop. Hans then pulled out a bit of paper and a pencil. He worked for a few moments; then looked up, shrugged and wondered back to the kitchen.

It turned out that the scone, when added to my bill, made my tip exactly twenty-one percent.

And that’s how I defeated a Corillian waiter in hand-to-hand combat.

Word count 996