SWORD FIGHTING
by James Glossop
I can't see the idea behind the whole thing, to be honest. Why should we have to do this? I didn't choose to be born here. I'm fairly grateful that I was, but why should I do this? I just want to stay inside and do nothing. You see; I had to have these sword fights. But they weren't fair sword fights. They never are. It always seems that something firm has been decided a long way before you step into the arena.
Some places have sword fights, like our kingdom does. Some have more, sort of, well, 'liberal' processes. Sometimes they say "Go off and slay a Dragon". And I'm thankful I don't fucking live there. Sometimes kids are noticed at a young age for their sword fighting abilities and are sent off to do it all nice and early. Most of the time these kids end up coming back senile or paranoid or something. Even some of the most conservative of Kings and Queens admit the importance of a few years spent in the company of other princes, dukes, princesses, fairies and the like. We are in an age of compassionate conservatism, after all. Some places they do things to your body. It's best not to question these ceremonies because often those involved seem mighty eager to have it all done or have to suffer the sword fights at the same time as the physical ordeal. Plus, you simply can't insult people like that, not with history and all.
It often depends a lot on your parents; sorry, the Kings and Queens from whom you will take the throne to your little kingdom. Certain Kings and Queens say that their parents never gave them even a push in 'the right direction'. So my generation suffer as a result of this absence of encouragement. I remember long chariot rides throughout the kingdom with my father, the King, spent discussing the importance of this whole affair. I would sit there, my sub-conscious rudely repeating to me the lyrics of a song some guards were singing outside our palace the day before. Thinking that made me laugh, but as the horse and cart's movement forced me into nodding enthusiastically, the King continued his speech about how difficult it was for him in his childhood. The tight leg garments I was wearing were undoubtedly carving a red and white grid into my calf. "We had to fight so very, very hard in the kingdom I was brought up in. The sword fights were much more difficult then. We had to remember all of the techniques and everything. I bet they even let you take a sheath into the arena, don't they?..." the King would offer above the tap-tap tap-tap-ing of the chariot speeding along. "And I don't want to see you piss your chance down the drain". This also made me laugh. He'd swear when he tried to get me to empathise with him. I regret it now, after the drugs and everything; but my responses used to just be like: "Yeah, yeah", trying my best to keep the word "Whatever" out of my dialogue. The Kings want the Princes to be Kings. Kings. Like them.
There were training fights. There were lots of fucking training fights. Also, sometimes we were given the chance to put work in before the fight. We'd be able to work in groups on sabotage missions against the pre-decided opponents. Or research new armour we could wear, shit like that. Some of my friends didn't bother with this sort of work, and often ended up regretting not doing some. One of my friends wrote "fucking stab me, just here" in tipp-ex on his armour, when given a chance to re-enforce it. Of course, there was only a limited amount of time or materials allowed on this sort of preparatory work. It was important that we show our stamina in the fighting arena. It's all about discipline, y'see. These fights will determine the rest of your life. After this you can go out and be a blacksmith, scholar or iron monger; but for fucks sake, please realise the importance of these fights.
I've found my feet, thank you. They are nicely attached to the end of my legs, and that's where they'll be staying for the time being.
Maybe I've over-emphasised it a bit. Some kids didn't give a toss about the fights. Some Kings and Queens didn't really mind how the princes and princesses did. Some Kings and Queens would cry after hearing of the lazy swordplay or absence of defensive manoeuvres during their child's practise. "Look, I'm about to die, I know what's going on." they'd mumble "You'll thank me when you're my age, that's when you'll understand. You need deer on the wall, now get some practise done". The princes and princesses would listen, reluctantly, when their parents were of this persuasion, dreaming of hours spent in their bedrooms reading of maths and science and languages and english. On the forest-laden outskirts of the kingdom you'd find kids with make-up, cigarettes and tattered clothes; their young heads buried in some book or another.
Some kids were late developers. Their muscles couldn't handle the strain of combat. This is what everyone told me. I knew these people though, they didn't fucking try one bit. And, you know what? I congratulate them for it. I want to spend the rest of my life with people who have never drawn a sword at all. It makes me fucking sick. Well, sometimes.
So my experienceÉ.well, I'll admit it, I had this all drilled into me. The importance of it. The good stead that you will be put in for later life. I used to have messenger job around the kingdom, I used to travel around on my horse, visiting all of these palaces that I would be able to afford given that my fights went well, and I didn't feel any desire to have this. Any of it. So everyone would smile at me. Ask me how things were going. I'd reply "fine, thank you". After my fights people would ask how it all went and if I was confident that it all had went well. I wasn't, of course. But I told them "yes, thanks for asking". Sometimes I'd go out of my way to please them, informing them of certain blows given, or techniques used. But only when I felt a certain way, or if I was with friends who thought it was all extremely funny.
I went through it all. The tedious preparations. You probably know what it is like. After the fights there was a break. The funniest thing of all, that I found anyway, was the false happiness. This break. We'd all be smiling, happy, enjoying the company of our families. This happened for at least a month or so. The scars of battle would hold; pinky purple, knitted together with iodine and thin white strips of paper. Aren't we allowed to be happy? No, I'm not saying that; all I'm trying to say is that the humour comes in when we see the contrast between the pseudo-happiness and absolute misery when the results of the fights come through. Why can't we be given the luxury of monotony? Free us from extremes. Please. Keep me in the mundane, that's all I ask, at least then the illusion of permanent happiness is repressed a tiny bit.
Sunset alcohol politely numbs the senses. Clouds twist fading light into pretty patterns. Joke. Laughs. Seriously, he's done well. Exchanged smiles. Thinking. Or he'd better have. Joke....of course. Laughs. Next day, walk the footsteps of the ghost. Look up. Are the dead copulating in the window? I wish they'd shut the curtains, for fuck's sake. No. Hide your eyes, young one, just in case. It's happened. Joke. Laughs. We nearly died. Joke! Laughs...
So the break ends. We find out. A sentence carved into stone the, fate of millions. The opposition were simply not trained well enough. The economy of the kingdom will suffer if this state of affairs continues. Kings, Queens, Dukes, all meet. Talk. Laugh.
On a personal level we find out. Visions and attitudes change a bit. A lot. For the build up it all seems not too worth it.
Misery. Elation. They don't last too long whichever you get, so why bother getting worried?
Image: girls and boys walking to the training establishment. Some skipping. Long road. Wealth scattered around in an attempt to diminish the youngster's spirits. Shadows cast on passing horses and carts. Illicit dreams of words and cigarettes fill their heads. They carry on walking. Their fate decided: there will always be more sword fights.