Could a mod move this to short stories? I can't find that forum anywhere and I'm really glad I didn't just post this in collaborative fiction but
did it in word, or I'd have lost the whole thing. Whew! Anyway, here's the story, I have to at least try to get to bed. I at least need a beer.
Gromit sat on his couch watching an InDemand movie. During the course of the movie, there was a crash in the kitchen behind him. "This doesn't sound
right," he thought to himself. He grabbed a foot long dagger he had been playing with and went to check it out. He knew that, since he had broken two
bones in his right hand and was wearing a half cast over it that the unsharpened decorative dagger would be fairly useless, but he hoped it might
Looking around the downstairs, he didn't see anything. He passed his dog, which just stared at him. He shook his head and passed the front door.
It was unlocked.
"That's odd," he thought to himself. "I thought I locked this when I let the dog out."
He locked the door and went upstairs. He was going to put the dagger away that he was practicing with using his left hand. He couldn't believe how
much he had neglected his left hand in his training; he could barely maneuver his katana or saber with his left hand and had to use the dagger for
longer training sessions.
He got to his bedroom and hung the dagger up when he heard another crash. Becoming truly concerned, he took his saber from the wall and unsheathed it.
The floor in his hallway creaked, and he knew someone was in the house. The floor creaked easily, but he could see the dog lying in the pool room from
where he stood, and knew it wasn't him.
His cockatiel Joe seemed to sense the tension and fear in him, and peeped a couple of times. He went over to the cage, heart racing, and put the bird
on his shoulder. The other, Phil, was unusually silent about being separated. They both sensed the tension.
Placing the bird on his shoulder somehow comforted him, and his heart stopped racing so quickly. He was still freaked out, but it felt better having
someone, even a bird, that he could trust at his side.
Joe nuzzled his neck as he started to leave his room.
He then realized the sword was getting unusually heavy in his hand, and was not steady. This wouldn't do. He looked at his half cast secured by 2
Ace® bandages, and sighed. This was it. This was his time. He unwrapped the bandages, thinking, "f%#$, if it's coming off, I'm washing this thing
if I live through this." He smiled at the irrelevancy of those thoughts as he tested the hand at holding the saber. It still seemed heavy, so he
tried a katana, but the hilt didn't form its self to his palm and was very unstable.
He sighed through his nose, brushed back his hair a couple of times, and told himself to just deal with it.
He took the saber out of its sheath again and hefted it with his broken right hand. It hurt, quite a bit, but he was able to handle it better with his
right hand. He thought to himself, "put this back. It's not sharpened and your katana is."
It was then the enormity of the situation hit him. He was, for the first time in his life, defenseless. All he had was his ability to intimidate. If
the person attacked him, he wasn't good enough with his left hand to do a thing, and any pressure on his right would likely cause a compound
fracture, though he was only a week and 3 days from having the cast officially taken off.
Sighing loudly again, he quietly opened the door to his bedroom and stepped out, holding the dull saber before him securely with his right hand
despite the pain.
As he went down the stairs, he heard another creak. He wished he had brought a rubber band gun he had, too. He was a crack shot and could have taken
out the burglar's eye with either a left or right handed shot.
Too late, he couldn't go back to get it.
Using his foot, he turned on the light in the hall. The flickering light from the InDemand previews that started after the movie had been paused too
long was replaced by the steady light of the lamp fixture in the ceiling.
The thief had a black gloc in his hand, pointed right at him. He knew this was his time. He forced a smirk onto his face while looking at the gloc,
then moved his gaze to the thief's eyes. He then hefted the sword, sending lances of pain through his hand and up his arm to his elbow.
The thief, whose gaze had been steady, suddenly became wary, then questioning. He kept glancing at the saber's blade and didn't notice the huge,
dark bruise on the back of the hand holding the saber. He noticed this, and pressed his advantage.
Forcing his face to remain steady, the smirk changed from a smile to a grin as he raised the sword, turning it so the edge was parallel to the ground.
His mind was frantically racing trying to find the words used in The Princess Bride that had moved him so when he watched it, but they wouldn't come.
Instead, he simply said, looking the thief in the eyes, "shoot."
The questioning look disappeared instantly and was replaced by fear. The thief's gaze kept shifting from the sword to the deadbolt on the front door
which was now locked.
Gromit held the sword steady and stated, "the back door is open; leave."
The thief seemed not to understand, and his gaze became transfixed on the sword. The gloc was still pointing Gromit's way, and it was all he could
think about, though he wouldn't let himself look at it. Always he looked the thief in the eyes, and the thief at this point couldn't return that
gaze. He took a step forward, wishing desperately to put this heavy sword down, feeling it pressing against his break. The pain was lancing up to his
shoulder now, but he continued to hold the sword steady. His wrist, which had been supported by a cast then a half cast for the last 2 weeks and 4
days was burning and trying to give out. Yet he knew, lower the sword, die. He forced that wrist to remain steady through will alone.
As he stepped forward, the thief stepped back. Now the back door was visible to him, and he pointed to it with his sword. The thief quickly glanced
towards it, and suddenly understood.
The thief turned and ran for the door, pulling it open and running across the lake not looking back, but concealing the glock.
Still holding the sword, he went to the back door and locked it. As he did, the sword toppled from his grasp as he jumped back to avoid crushing a
toe. His hand was a ball of pain that, as soon as he relaxed it, formed its self immediately back into the shape it was in in the half cast.
He started to walk back to his room, but never made it, collapsing onto the couch sobbing. As he did this, Joe, his bird, flew, not expecting the
sudden drop, but landed right back on his shoulder. As he sobbed, thanking God for another day, Joe nuzzled his neck and peeped a few times. It dawned
on him how close he was to being shot. All the thief needed to do was apply 3 pounds of pressure on his middle finger and he'd have been dead.
After he regained control, he replaced the cast and made a mental note to call the orthopedic surgeon tomorrow to get an x-ray. Then he tried to call
a close friend of his. He needed to get this off his chest. When he didn't answer, he tried another. As it was about 11:30 on a Friday night, no one
Pouting a little and half heartedly crying and saying, "oh no, I need to deal with this on my own," he thought of his computer and went upstairs.
EDIT: Dang it, apparently you need permission to post a short story. Go ahead and delete it, mods. Sorry for wastin' your time, and thanks Pisky's
short story for showing me where short stories were located now
[edit on 2-19-2005 by junglejake]