Flash Fiction - Tyberious - 248 words

I looked across the field straight into the eyes of Sir Gregor. He was a mountain of a man. Proud. Haughty. A cold blooded murderer who had been in duel after duel. He was known for killing men quickly. He was known for killing men slowly. But today he is mine to kill.

I feel the other shift inside me. Eager to be loose, eager to fight, eager to fly into battle. Not yet I whisper, not yet.

But it won’t be long before it must, I can feel it pressing against my skin. It fills me, fills me with hot violence waiting to erupt.

Gregor makes his move. He charges. Feet thundering, sword flashing, 300 pounds of mad man flesh bearing down on me.

Time slows to the speed of a sleeping turtle, and I see with clarity. I see the dust floating. I see the spittle fly. I see a cut dandelion spin through the air.

I see my death upon his face.

In this moment of stillness, I loosen my inner chains. Loosened my beast springs forth with a howl of abandonment. It pushes my awareness aside, thrusting me deep down into the innards of my soul.

In my last glimpse of Gregory, his eyes change. Fear. Fear and desperation is all they hold.


I wake to find Gregor at my feet. Headless. The beast inside me growls contently.

I am Tyberious. Hunted by men. Last of my kind. Death to all that seek me.