Three!

Since nobody's ever really determined who controls the countdown...I guess I'll start.

Three more days left!!!


And with three days left, how about some excitement?!?
And what's more exciting than a knife fight?

Well...

Okay then.

I wrote this last night.

He was quiet, and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. He was at the edge of the roof with a switchblade knife held loosely in his left hand. We were pretty high up - twenty stories or so, high enough that the fall could kill you just as sure as a knife, but neither of us wanted to fall. I pulled out my little dagger too. It was a sheath knife I'd inherited (or stole, it's hard to remember, it was a long time ago) from my father. There was some whaling themed scrimshaw on the ivory handle, and it had a thick solid blade about five inches long. I moved closer.

He pivoted and kept the edge of the building off to his right side. I'd never had to knife-fight a lefty before, so I told myself to be careful. Before I could finish the thought, he leapt and struck quick, his switchblade straight out. I knocked it to the side with mine with a little ring, but it's edge caught my arm, and made a little slice about four inches on the side of my forearm. It was, however, better than the gut he was aiming for. He didn't back after the leap, but struck again from up close. I caught the strike square on my knife. Sparks rang off, and I lashed out fast. He jumped back, and I moved forward, making a stab towards his hand. I caught a finger or two on the top of his hand, but he made a nifty nimble up-cut, and sliced me across the top of mine. In a couple of minutes, the blood was going to make the ivory handle hard to hold.

I made a quick move with my left, and caught him square on the jaw with a fist. He staggered back, making a sweep with his knife at my offending arm. He was good - this guy - and he would have made a nice gash along my wrist, but I had on a watch. His knife sliced through the band, and my near 300 buck Swiss Army Watch dropped to the roof. I hit him again with the fist, and it sent him back a step. As he stumbled, I struck. My blade caught the top of his right hand - went through it, and pinned his palm against his stomach. I pulled it out in time to fend off the strike coming from the other side. His switchblade rang off the hilt of my knife. He struck again in a little neat circle. It got past my guard, and ran into my shoulder, hitting bone.

It hurt. But in a spot like that, adrenaline is flowing pretty hard, and besides, you stop for too long thinking about how much you're hurt, you get hurt a lot worse. As it was, I took a step back, and ran my weapon up to knock his away. It was good that I did, since he'd already pulled it out of my shoulder, and was making a slash at my throat. I blocked it, and had him way over-extended. I ran my arm up, and pushed his knife-arm to his left, then ran my blade straight at his chest. He pulled up his right arm to block it, but my steel went through the soft part of his forearm, I pulled it back with a vicious rip. I felt the handle grate as the knife ran across bone.

He was in no position to do anything but give ground, so he did. I pressed in, but he got his knife back in front. I kept moving forward, and he went back, trying to get into a good stance. But he hit the edge of the roof with a calf. He staggered, and I jumped at him. He couldn't do two things at once, and tried to fend off my knife with his. It worked, and the blood oozing around my hand for the last minute or so, made the handle slippery enough, so my knife left me. But he was wobbly, and I was moving forward. I didn't stop, and gave him a head-butt into his face. He tried grabbing me with his off arm, but it was weak from two of my stabs. As he started to go over, he made one last lash with the knife. It missed my nose by a few inches. I gave him a kick, and he went over.

I'll give him this though, he didn't make a sound going down. He took it pretty good. I lost him in the dark after a few stories, but I heard the thunk when he hit. It wasn't loud from where I was, like, the sound of a neighbor across the street dropping a trash-sack on the curb. Which, I guess, was sort of like what he was. I wiped my hand on my shirt, and picked up my knife, and got my watch. The watch had sentimental value.