Hi Anyone that can be bothered to read this. I won't lie I'm not an experienced writer at all and to be frank I'm just doing this because I'm bored. Any mistakes grammatically, contextually and continuity wise are all mine and ughhhhh apologies in advance. Regardless of reviews i'll be posting these it's more just so I can do something other than go to the gym and think about pineapples.

"Where Lies Pride?"

A man and a woman circle each other their weapons drawn with the hammer cocked on the mans revolver and the woman's sabre is poised to strike at any given moment.

The warm orange glow of a burning farmhouse paints their silhouettes into what should be a pitch black field.

The man is in his 40s, his face is rough and rounded. It is clear from the way he has swept his hair back that despite his somewhat advanced age his vanity is still present and unlike his eyes it had not yet dimmed out. The grip on his revolver shows this is not his first fight and the scars on his hand scream this fact. His face is full of grief mixed with despair, his cheeks are red and tears have clearly not long stopped.

Despite this mans age his body is still quite lithe and shows signs of hard labour, as following his retirement from the soldiers life he had inherited the family farm and had intended to live a simple farmers life. He wears a simple mans shirt that was once white but is now ruined with patches of red and covered in sharp slashes. His jeans have not escaped harms way and a few well placed slashes could easily render him with an even redder face. His boots too are ragged, as old as he and bar the dirty revolver in his hand the last reminder of his soldiering days.

The woman is in her 50s, her face is taut and as sharp as it ever could be. The hair upon her head is long and plentiful, there is no doubt that in the daytime it shines under the blistering sun of this western country. Her eye however has dimmed and does not glow as it once did. Her grip on the sabre is oddly elegant and although she has no scars on her hands, the eye patch and calloused palms tells you her fighting experience.

Her body is not lithe and never was, it is muscular and through intense training is practically devoid of any femininity as she was born into a family of military strongmen to a father who expected her and her brothers to follow the family tradition. Her clothing represents this history or rather it did as similar to the man the fight had tore away the tie and jacket displaying her prestigious medals, leaving her clad in navy blue slacks, black combat boots which half an hour ago where polished black and a dress shirt which similar to the man has red patches a few patches which would indicate that if she was milliseconds slower she would be dead on the floor.

The man stares for a moment into the blade of the sabre and in it he see's a reflection of the woman he once loved. The woman is 25 her hair no different to how it is before him now her face had that familiar tautness but her eyes almost glowed green (or at least to him they did). This young lady walked towards him with elegance and but a brief trip of her feet betrayed her true feelings in the moment. If only he could feel her embrace once agai-

The woman must've noticed his moment of day dreaming as she shifted herself and brought her sword sideways in an attempt to cut his head clean off or maybe to blind him, the man isn't sure but he was an old soldier dammit and he had lived through 1 war and 3 "liberations" the body while old and not as quick as it once was could still move faster than men 20 years his junior and with speed that shocked even him he threw his head back and just out of reach of her blade.

In his movement he saw a gap to potentially end this fight and for them to both leave with their lives and as such he twisted his wrist slightly and aimed for her shoulder. The woman gasped and her eyes fixated on the barrel of his gun and despite the dirt caked on the outter barrel she could clearly see a young man of 19 years staring right into her eyes, his face is sharp, clean shaven and his hair is longer than regulations allowed. She could not however see his eyes as they were obscured by the brim of his hat but she knew they were yellow and glowed like the sun (or at least to her they did). He stood still and she wanted so desperately to walk forward and hold his face in her hands and feel the hot leather of his jack-

No she would not allow herself to remember, he had broken her heart when he left the regiment and she had tracked him for 10 years before finding him on this sad excuse for a farm and she had sworn on her fathers sabre that she would end him. She could not back out now, she had sacrificed everything for this moment. So quicker than the man could pull his trigger finger she had twisted her body and once again poised to strike.

So with fury and fire like all the anger of her life had been poured into to one strike she struck downwards as if to try and cleave the man in two pieces she made contact... but not with flesh, she new knew that metallic sound and she knew it was her stolen bowie knife that the man had took the night he left. He had joked once that she played with this knife too much and that one day it would bite her in the ass and it finally had.

The man used the literal seconds brought him by his quick block and pulled his gun up pressed it into her abdomen, pulled the trigger and the noise that followed shook the both of them to there core and could be heard as clear as the cannons of a battleship.

*click*

it had misfired, no bullet came shooting out no blood splattered the ground and his once beloveds eyes although dimmed still retained the light of life within them. Now only one thought raced through their respective minds and it was simply "What do I do now"

To be continued

I hope you enjoyed! I actually really liked writing it but I imagine it's probably full of grammatical mistakes and I think I'll try and continue this story or I might just leave it there who knows.

Cheerio!