Creed
In my room that I lived in there was a sword. It was my father's sword, and it sat on the dresser across from the bed. The funny thing about this sword however, was that father never used it. Father had many swords, but this one he kept in our room on a special stand.
When I was young I would always reach for the sword, but my mother always shooed me away from it. On occasion my father would come into the room and take the sword from its stand. I would crawl up into his lap and he would unsheathe the sword, and I would look upon its cold beauty.
"In Doma, my son," My father would always say, "Men live and die by the sword. We must honor it, and be prepared to accept its judgment at any moment. That is our way." I would nod solemnly and look at my own reflection in the blade's mirror like surface. Then my father would sheath the sword reverently and the tension would break. Mother would kiss him on the cheek, and I'd cover my face from their affection.
I loved my father, and I dreamed of one day becoming just like him. I studied the way of the sword diligently, and prepared myself to accept its judgment, so when the time came I would be ready.
But when the time came I was not ready. It was early morning and mother and I were in bed. A foul smell came into the room, and my mother began coughing. She left the bed in agitated jerks, each one punctuated by her horrible coughs. I was scared and pulled the covers close to me. I too began to cough. It was rough, and it hurt me deep in the chest.
Mother reached the window and threw it open. She tried to scream, but the only sound that issued forth was a strangled gargle as she chocked on her own vomit. She began convulsing on the floor until she finally became still. I began to cry, the burning hurt my lungs, and I was scared to breath, but I tried calling out to my mother anyways. I breathed deep for another yell, but the air was fire in my throat. I coughed and retched and finally collapsed back into the bed.
I lay there covered in vomit, and coughing up blood, but I couldn't take my eyes off the sword. It stood there unaffected by my unseen enemy.
As I lay there I wanted to scream. "In Doma, men live and die by the sword…" but all I could think was,
"Where's the sword?"