THWACK.
The sword tip bounces off my mask. Again. Actually, I guess technically it's the foible. “Stop apologizing when you hit him!”
THWACK.
Under my breath I hiss, “Yes professor.” I’m pretty sure the mask hides my actions, so I stick my tongue out at Jake as he moves away. I know this. I know it
doesn’t hurt, but I can’t help it. I’m the one who rescues the spiders at school
when the kids shriek and want to squish them. I save mice from my cats and
release them in the neighbor’s yard. I even feed squirrels from my bird
feeders. I just can’t get used to the idea that it’s ok to be hitting people
intentionally. THWACK. I clock my opponent again, adding a small “sorry” under
my breath. I’m pretty sure I see him grin beneath his mask.
I keep
practicing, sparring with the other nooblet who seems less lost than I feel. Grumbling to myself, I wince and whisper apologies every time I smack the poor
guy in the head. But after ten rounds of this… secretly, slightly ashamedly, I
finally admit it to myself… this is kind of awesome. THWACK. I finally have a
move I can do right. THWACK. ZwerCHAU!
The word even sounds awesome. If this were a comic, I’d have little spiky
bubbles surrounding the word as I whacked him again. It’s my new favorite word, maybe even better than defenestrate.
Zwerchau!
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