Written by Anthony St. Clair for oneword
December 12, 2006 08:41 PM

The panic fell as time slowed, as the arc of the sword, an eternity ago a blur, slowed, and slowed, and slowed, until it was just a strip of metal hung in the air. He ducked; his mind fell away; he moved, and his limbs rose, moved forward, swung back; he thought there were cries, but if there were, there would be time to hear them later, later, when time came back, when he was the only one standing, and the sound he would know best, would be the sound of his pulse in his ears.

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