My Cardboard Balcony

Stabbed By A Bayonet by Belinda Roddie Stabbed by a bayonet, I propped myself against the nearest weeping willow, pressed my torn tunic against my stomach, and exhaled, hoping the pain would soon regress and the bleeding slow down. I know I would probably die, but at least I could do so without dirtying my uniform much, or sitting in agony for far longer than I desired. The cavalry would come too late; I was sure of that. I wished to pull the metal shard out of my flesh, but it hurt too much to move or speak. All I could do was breathe, and sit, and think, while the armies stormed closer toward the brink.

"What are you going to do next, oh evil one?" asked the general sardonically. "Burn down the puppy farms and starve the orphans?" "Oh, please," replied the Overlord. "That's painfully stereotypical. Besides, I'm malicious. I'm not evil." "If you check a thesaurus, I'm sure those are synonymous," grumbled the general under her breath as the Overlord turned his attention back to his gathered legion of minions.