01. Starting at the End — A flash fiction story

Writing prompt: ‘Write a story that starts right at the heart of the denouement, ending the story during the aftermath.’ [350 words]

And that was when Dharma grabbed his father’s sword.

He closed his palms around the ornate hilt, the same palms that had been shredded by the nettle thorns when he had entered the battleground at dusk. He had fought through the night and, now, as the sun peeked from the mountains on the eastern side and the first ray of dawn shone on the valley, he had seen bodies of blood that remained — some that flowed like a river, some that were stagnant like a poignant lake.

That was when he had seen the gold on the sword’s hilt, glittering in the mud and blood, and just for a moment, he had thought, “Look father, there’s hope in death too.”

He now pulled his father’s sword closer to his body as a shield, and stood with knees bent and back straight, ready to charge at anybody who came towards him. Because that was what he was taught, wasn’t it?

To take a deep breath first, slowly ready his stance, wait for the enemy to come closer and then, attack.

He had been taught to look straight ahead, to face the enemy and never look back.

“Looking back is like inviting your past to intervene,” his father used to say. “And you never bring your past into the fight.”

“I remember, father,” Dharma said to himself while touching the blade with his head.

He waited for his enemy men to approach him, but it seemed like they were all embroiled in their own duels.

Nobody came at him and he stood rooted at the same spot as though the dead bodies at his feet had locked him in their arms — as though begging him not to leave them.

He felt like he was slowly sinking deeper into the ground.

He was taught to wait for his enemies, so he waited.

He was taught to be ready first, so he did, not knowing that, in battle, the enemy did not wait for you to be ready. Nor did it always attack you face to face.

The first stab fell on Dharma’s lower back and the pain that followed was something he couldn’t ever be ready for. His palms burned from the nettles, yes, but the brunt to the spine was nothing compared to that.

He fell to his knees first. Then, his upper body gave up and he collapsed to the ground sideways. His mouth fell open and he swallowed his countrymen’s blood, perhaps some part of their bodies as well.

Just before he closed his eyes, he saw the first glimpse of the sun as it recovered itself from the clouds, and he thought, “Look, father, there’s beauty in death too.”

His enemy walked over him as he submerged into the earth, still holding his father’s sword. Still ready to kill whoever attacks him first. [474 words]