Duels...

I like to fight duels. Tho I don't claim to be an expert on all the fancy details about this tradition, I just love to engage in what my dictionary defines as "a formal contest with deadly weapons between two individuals". 

Yes, I also like war, but war is messy: there are too many people involved, and they're all coming from so many angles: it's confusing. The art of dueling appeals to me much more, because you have your enemy standing twelve paces away. There's no question about what your target is, or who's going to attack you — your enemy is the man whose guts you hate, because he insulted your honor: there he is, front and center. It's just that simple. You can use either guns or swords to settle your feud.

But I do enjoy when families enter into the picture. It's nice to see brothers and cousins standing by and rooting for their kinsman. So I would go so far as to embrace the concept of multigenerational clan-battles; but still, I'd prefer that fighting remain on the duel-side of warfare.

I just like the person-to-person interaction. It's you versus me. You draw your knife, and I draw mine. You jab, I jab. You end up pulling your gun and shooting a bullet into my brain. You actually manage to shoot me three times. Then I jab you twice, while staggering forth and flailing in desperation; and at last we both pass out & collapse from our injuries. 

A pair of compassionate female nurses who have been watching our clash and cheering for both sides equally now hasten forward and drag our bodies onto a two-man raft, similar to the one that appears in the novel HUCKLEBERRY FINN; and, after ferrying us across the river, they heft us into a makeshift medical tent. 

Inside the emergency room of the tent is an old hermit who was a dueler in his youth and is now a self-taught amateur surgeon. He pokes and prods around at our wounds for a while, and then announces that our innards are too infected for him to operate upon: The only thing that can save us is prayer.

So now our mothers set out on a mission to pray for our recovery. They go from church to church, supplicating the LORD; also praying to God's Son Jesus and the Holy Virgin Mary. They pray at all the Synagogues and Mosques that they encounter. They pray hard, night and day, at every sacred place they can find, except the shrines of pagan deities. Our moms finally join hands and enter the Mormon Salt Lake Temple to voice a heartfelt prayer together, in hopes that this will save us. 

Soon we both heal. Opening our eyes, we ask "What happened?" and "Where are we?" The hermit surgeon explains that we're inside a medical tent: we were brought here after fighting a violent duel; but our injuries were too severe to mend: they grew so corrupt that they could not be healed by any salve or medicine; for, in the time that it took to transfer us to this facility, our wounds had begun to fester and were inwardly rankling & putrefying — thus we've been on the brink of death for many months. But now we are cured.

So, finding ourselves in good health again, you & I set off on a joint adventure. We are no longer enemies but friends, because our honor has been restored. 

After journeying for a while, we realize that our limbs are tired and our feet are sore. So we head towards a location in the distance that looks like a decent place to rest: it is a castle that has left its drawbridge down. We thus cross over its moat and then pass thru its main entryway whose gate is unlocked. Pacing down the stone hallway, we open many doors and gaze into bedrooms until we find one that suits our taste. Then we begin to undress.

At that moment, an angry guard storms into the room and shouts "Identify yourselves." 

So I say that I'm me; then I point to you and explain that you're you. 

The guard remains very stiff and vext. 

"What's wrong?" I ask. 

"The lord of this castle does not welcome duelers here," the guard answers with a frown. 

I think for a moment, and then I say: "Perhaps your lord would like to settle this with a mano-a-mano confrontation?"

The guard is irate. His face and ears have turned bright red. 

I address this guard again: "Or perhaps YOU would like to fight against me first, and then, after I destroy you, I might fight against your owner. Or your lord or whatever."

So this guard and I begin to prepare to fight our duel. We get about halfway thru drawing up the plans; the event is scheduled to transpire upon the morrow... But, suddenly, you yourself (my dear reader) leap out of the shadows and attack the guard, and snap his neck with your ungloved hands. 

The guard's death-scream wakes the castle's lower-class workforce. (That is to say: everyone who normally labors as a manservant or maidservant of this castle and therefore sleeps here nightly is awakened by the death-scream of the guard that you yourself, O gentle reader, just brutally killed. The only inhabitants whose slumber remains uninterrupted by this distraction are the 100 knights that the lord of the castle employs to camp in a semicircle around his own bed ostensibly to protect his wife Aphrodite, who is the Grecian Goddess of Lust.)

So the working-class inhabitants storm into our room and attack us with sickles and hammers; but you and I fend them off. This leaves a large pool of bloody gore.

Now the castle's knights awake. Led by the lord of the castle, they appear before us in full riot gear. They begin swinging their clubs, and the sound of all the blows on our upraised shields resembles bowling-ball-sized hail raining down upon the roof of a luxury sedan. 

Worst of all, just when you & I are trying to figure out how we're going to repulse the force of 100 club-wielding knights, a little dog creeps up behind me & starts nipping at my ankle. This infuriates me; so, without thinking, I spin around and try to bite the dog right back; however, in doing so, I momentarily let down my brazen shield, thus the clubs of the attacking knights are no longer blocked from pulverizing my physical body. They're now pounding on my spine and my skull. You look over and see me being beaten into a pulp, and this makes you mad: so you rise up to full height and yell a primal curse from the depths of your being, which shakes the whole room; then you plow straight forward jabbing your knife to and fro like a savage. You end up slaying all 100 royal knights. 

Now it's just you and the castle's lord remaining (and Aphrodite, of course, who is reclining upon the bed in the background of this scene, wearing a silken dressing gown); you're unaware whether I survived my beatdown — you glance over and note that I appear to be a paste of blood & guts mashed into the carpet. 

You step forward and address the lord: "Arm yourself, and let us fight fair." 

The lord grabs a shotgun from the rack-mount on the wall next to the bed. 

You then unholster your pistol. "I'll allow you to say when we should fire," you instruct the lord; "and then we'll both shoot." 

The castle's lord stands for a moment aiming his shotgun at your face from twelve paces away, and you raise your arm and point your pistol at his chest. 

"Alright... NOW!" shouts the lord. You both pull your triggers: 

Your own bullet lodges into the lord's heart and he falls back dead, while his shot misses you entirely. 

For a moment, you stare at the lord's cadaver, fearing that it might begin to stir; but it proves motionless.

"Come enjoy your reward," Aphrodite now lifts her gown and bares her womanhood to you in a medium-shot. 

But you reply "Hold that idea. First, I must determine whether my friend Bryan Ray is still alive." 

You now run over to the place where I am lying, gasping for breath & groaning in pain... Leaning down, you remark in my ear "You really took a beating!"

"It hurts bad," I admit. And you can tell from the look of my eyes that I have been weeping.

Now, standing up, you announce "I must seek out a good physician to help my friend Bryan." Then you strap me to a palfrey that you find in the castle's stables, and we gallop until we reach the nearest hospital. — After registering me at the front desk and helping me take a seat in the waiting room, you make sure that I have everything that I need (you buy me a double-vodka from the beverage dispenser which costs two silver coins); then you return to Aphrodite. You spend the rest of your life in the stars with the Goddess of Lust, for she has granted you immortality.