Your Money and Your Life
1026 Words
The ogre had all the patience that ogres were infamous for, which was little to none. "Gragh!" he said, pulling a handicapped parking pole out of the concrete. "You will die quickly, or you will die slowly, but you will die. I will claim the magic you bear, and it shall become mine."
Harold pulled Slayer of Men from his pocket, held the blade up where it could be seen.
"Heh. Heh. Heh. That little thing won't cut me, man spawn." the ogre said. "Slow it is."
Harold fled, and the ogre's first swing shattered the glass front of the store.
"Now, Slayer! Now would be a good time for all that strength and power you were talking about earlier."
"It would be nice to be as strong as that ogre is." Harold admitted.
"With what? How?" Harold said, distressed to find that the ogre could actually run faster than he could. He dodged right and rolled underneath the ogre's blow.
Slayer of Man asked.
"I'll do what I have to to survive!" Harold shouted.
And feeling his intent, the sword was able to assume its full size, that of what historians know as an arming sword and what gamers would call a longsword. It spoke in a baritone voice. "Sloth? You invoke SLOTH against an ogre?"
It sighed, but noticed the ogre had paused.
"What do I do now?" Harold asked.
"Cut the ogre." Slayer of Men said. "The enchantments upon me will do the rest. Just let me plug in... HOW LAZY ARE YOU?" And to the ogre, "I'm so sorry for what's about to happen to you."
Harold took a step forward, parrying the ogre's swing. The force of the blow was muted, but still sent him sprawling, and Slayer of Men from his grasp.
"Hah." the ogre said, pointing at where Slayer was sticking up from the asphalt. "You made him sound scary. I'm going to eat him and use you like a toothpick."
"Yes." Slayer of Men said. "That does seem increasingly likely."
There was a booming noise, and the ogre jerked. And again.
"I got more ammo inside." the store owner said, "And the police are on their way."
"Let them come." the ogre said. "Even the police cannot un-eat you."
Fear might not be a sin, but it is great for generating adrenaline. Harold, seeing how little effect a shotgun had upon the ogre, ran for the sword. Or perhaps for his car, as they were in the same direction.
But as he approached the sword, he slowed, and grabbed it, swirling to hold it in both hands between himself and the ogre. "How big of a cut?" he asked.
"The bigger the cut, the bigger the effect." Slayer of Men told him.
The ogre approached, holding the handicapped sign low, oriented like a flyswatter. "Duck under this!" he yelled, swinging at Harold's kneecap.
To his credit, Harold tried to leap over the blow. He tried. The edge of the sign caught him just above his ankle, spinning him into the black asphalt hard enough to pop that side of his face like a blood bag. His teeth on that side of his face shattered. Harold screamed.
The ogre also screamed, a tiny cut on its right bicep. "Ah, my strength. My power. I feel it waning. You may have won this night, but..."
He chuckled then, "Just kidding. This barely hurts."
But Harold felt a warm glow from his hand. From something cylindrical in his hand. And it shot up his veins, crossing briefly through his shoulder to his neck, and then toward his wounds. Where the warmth touched, the pain vanished.
"Get up, you fool!" the sword told him. "Get up and cut him."
A roll to the side, and somehow, Harold was on his feet.
"How cute." the ogre said, "but it's over, man-thing. I have reach, and power. You. Are. Only. Human."
Before the swings of the ogre's chosen club, Harold fell back. For all his agility moments before, his leg hadn't received any of the magical warmth, and was heartily voicing its protests through his nerve endings.
"If you want to live, you need to cut it." the sword reminded him.
"How?" Harold asked.
The ogre kicked the tire of Harold's car, propelling it away. And, Harold noticed, popping the tire like a balloon.
"Normally, one swings at things one intends to cut." Slayer of Men said.
"Oh s**t. Oh shit." Harold said. And to his credit, the next blow he ducked under, he tried to lunge forward. His twisted ankle gave way under him, and just the very tip of Slayer pierced the side of the ogre's calf.
"Up, up!" the sword urged him, as the ogre swung down, crumpling the sign and putting a divot into the parking lot.
Harold rolled, but wasn't able to propel himself upward like earlier.
A station wagon pulled into the parking lot. Not slow, but not fast, either. It came to a stop just outside of the ogre's reach.
A tiny woman, appearing to be Hispanic of origin, stepped out. She clucked her tongue. "Samson, what are you doing?"
"You stay out of this! And I keep telling you, Samson is my brother."
"Not in public." she said to him. Her arm came up, pointing at things she wasn't looking at. "Camera. Camera. Not here, Ajax. Go home."
"I used the Gremlin song. It's safe." Ajax told her.
"Look at that one." she said, pointing at the hardware store. "The flashing light."
"That means it isn't working." Ajax said. "I think."
"But you don't know, do you?" she asked. "Quit endangering us all. Go home. Eat this man another night. Somewhere away from cameras."
"No. It's a trick. You're trying to get me to go away so that you can eat him."
Both of them were bathed in alternating red and blue light.
"And now, neither of us gets to eat him." she said.
- Writer
