Ayr Academy: Connor Paschke



Killing Time

I wait for my moment.
So slight I look almost delicate,
many foes have made such a mistake in the past,
they did not live to correct it.

I wait for my moment.
The cruel glare of the sun glints from my edge,
slipping down to the rich bronze hilt,
where sweat collects from your hand,
gripping me in anticipation.

I wait for my moment.
I grunt against the blade of another,
but quickly change my direction,
alas merely the wood of a shield awaits my teeth.

I wait for my moment.
The fickle audience grow restless,
this is taking too long,
distracted you miss the blade,
its jaws digging into the arm which holds me.

I wait for my moment.
Has the moment passed?
A spray of warmth erupts from the wound,
your arm goes limp,
I fall to the ground.

My moment has come.
I watch as you pick me back up,
your other hand still in use,
your opponent underestimates you,
his eyes widen in shock,
as my jaws clamp round his throat,
and rasp against bone.

My moment has Come.

by Connor Paschke