Sword training. Three hours a day. Three hours. A day. Three. Hours. A. Day.
I hate my life. But I also want to keep it. And let's face it. My sword skills? Nil. So if I want to stay alive, I might actually have acquire some skill instead of just randomly swinging and jabbing. At least, that was the way Jalil explained it to me. And since he's usually right – when has he been wrong? – I decided to take sword lessons along with the rest of the guys.
Exercise... or death. It was a sucky choice, but death very narrowly lost out. Otherwise I would not be here. I wouldn't be able to stand Jalil pointing out exactly what's wrong with my form every time Instructor Whats- his-name hits me over the head. Hell, I wouldn't put up with Whats-his-name hitting me over the head.
"Christopher, that last time you..."
"Dropped my elbow, yeah, yeah. I know."
"Do it again," Whats-his-name barks.
I am again hit over the head with the flat of the sword.
At the end of the three hours – three fucking horrific hours - I am thirsty, sweaty, tired, and fully ready to ram my sword through the Instructor. Provided I could life my arm. Which I can't. Remind me why I put up with this again?
And then my eyes fall on David, still practicing his sword moves a couple of feet away, muscles covered with sweat. Gah.
I'm dirty. I'm sweaty. I'm tired. And I am headed into the showers right after David.
Oh yeah. That's why.
Ah, swordplay slash. The very stuff of LIFE!
cough
Anyway...
Review please!