Casually with a knife

(Inspired by an excerpt from the latest jimhines novel, "The Prosekiller Chronicles: Rise of the Spider Goddess", found in this guest post at John Scalzi's blog. Bad poetry or not, I managed to write something today.)

When our story's hero burst into the room,
All he saw was a fireplace burning merrily
And a man sitting casually on the nearby floor,
Honing his knife.

"Ho! Blackguard! What do you here,"
Demanded the young boy.
"I'm sharpening my knife, son,"
Came the reply.
"Sit down and learn a little."

The hero considered.
He had a little sword, but not much else,
And a sword was simply a very large knife.
Why not learn how to care for it?
He sat, and leaned close to hear.

The man grasped his knife by the blade,
Handed it over, and said,
"See the edge, how bright it is
When you look right across it?
You can see the nicks."

Our hero looked carefully.
He didn't see much, but in the firelight
He noticed there was a dull spot
In the bright line of metal.
"Yeah," he said.

"Give it back, and I'll show you
How to fix that."
The knife was returned to its master,
Who ran a dry stone down the body
Several times.

"Now to clean this mark,
You need to work the stone--"
And then the door banged again,
Admitting another would-be hero,
Causing the man to sigh.

Casually, he stood up, threw his knife,
Then looked down at the hero.
"That's how you ruin a good blade, boy."
The boy looked at the victim,
Who stared blankly forward, gurgling.

"That went right in his throat! He's dead!"

"Soon dead, yes. That shield -- he's of the rebellion,
One of those who insist
On sitting unlawful kings on
Our kind Queen's throne
And taxing us all to death."

The man retrieved his blade.
"You have to fetch the guard!"
Exclaimed the boy.

"No, son. If they're this deep in the manor,
We're all in trouble. Now run, boy,
Tell your mother to get her shield and axe.
We'll beat them off yet!"

The man's son ran to save the day,
Waving his wooden blade.
The man wiped off his knife
And ran to get his sword.

Facing it down

I'm feeling increasingly like I'm wearing a man suit that I'd like to climb out of now.

I've faced death already. I don't mind it. It's suffering I'm trying to avoid.

Hard choices. Very, very hard choices coming. Which suffering is worse (today)? Which misery can I continue to hold against? What fight can I actually win, not simply drag out into useless wrestling against things I can't get rid of?

I'm plodding very slowly toward seeing a doctor. I should be leaping like a bolt of lightning, but the fear of financial lack grinds me to a halt, even at dawn of supposed health care for "all" Americans.

If I had to choose one thing to shapeshift into, my spirit body would top the list. It isn't human. I'm just human because that's what happens to be in charge around here.

I wonder sometimes if I would miss my gender if I gave that up, too. Then I think how stupidly happy a simple, tiny jiggle in just the right place makes me, and how many different manifestations of body I have had or may have had in other lives. Every gender of every species I've ever been, including the "weird" ones. Edge-walker, line-crosser, swapped places, straight with exceptions: every role as well.

And here I am with one body and one life to figure out, while Death (or one its various agents) cleans his fingernails and complains about not being allowed to take me away from all this. And I nod and sympathize, but we have to do this thing. I am an evolving being, even now, with something to do that the Universe insists on me doing before I leave again.

I guess I should continue to evolve. Maybe I'll even get treatment for whatever it is that's causing this occasional numbness and aching in my head. Oh, and the undiagnosed cancer, too.

The psychic stuff can stay. It's proven its value already.