Here I Stand

Let the record be clear. I have emerged from a cave made warm by the heat of a small fire of twigs and branches. I carry with me my shield and my broadsword and take my stand on firm granite in the brightness of an early morning sun wearing nothing more than a loincloth made from the hide of a brontosaurus. I am prepared for battle and will not be denied. With an eloquence that another may be more capable of, but with the same determination, I proclaim to the world, my five ex-wives, my mistress, the local bartenders and the universe that "I too am gladiator".

Others who might take their place as content producers may coment on my prose as little more than "cute," a single adjective comprised of no more than one word and a single syllable, but let them be aware. Let the lady with the limited vocabulary who dared such an affront step out of the shadows, and bare her bosoms so that I might face her challenge in a more complete way.

The lady is not a Guinevere emerging from the mist of a Camelot; the lady is instead, a vixen sent by the gods of the Old Testament to extract a vengeance and torment the soul of this humble writer of prose. I have met the challenge of the dame with the force and energy provided by the broad sword and she has responded with the quick repartee of the rapier. I am wounded, but not mortally. I am bleeding but not profusely. I will in fact not only survive, but I will prevail perhaps by grabbing this damsel by the hair and biting her on the back of the neck.

I welcome the opportunity of another encounter. But only after a local physician removes the stitches that had been require following our last. I am told by this healer that they are necessary for the healing process to begin.