“She is Fighter”

They didn’t know who she was. They didn’t know where she came from. She just was there now. They accepted that. But did they like it? Good question. Though she was kind and respectful, there were mixed feelings about this stranger. The village leader would find himself blushing when she asked him a question and was at a loss for words when he tried to speak to her. The blacksmith didn’t trust her, though he was usually a kind man. The villagers would grumble around the table with their family. She didn’t do any work, but they labored all day in the fields, shops, at the lake, or in the forest. As this continued, more resentment grew toward the kind stranger, as peaceful as she seemed. The village leader grew anxious. They were a peaceful village, but she had set them off center. Many said she must work for food. The village leader hated to demand the stranger to work, but he had to. If she would work, the village would be balanced again. So, he politely explained. She smiled and laughed and assured him that things would turn out fine, that she would work and the village could be at peace. He flushed a bit as she said this and couldn’t help but think of how nice she looked. But as a couple of days passed, he wasn’t sure she would keep that promise. She spent her hours roaming around the village edge, eyes always on the horizon. She always held two sticks, one in each hand. Any small movement would draw her attention, and any noise would cause her to rush to suddenly stand erect, as if she had been electrocuted. It was like she was waiting for something.  Then they came. The village cried out in fear as they raced into their homes, running from the stinking flesh and incoherent moans. There was little light that rainy day, except for a few streetlamps. And even they seemed gloomy and strange. As they gathered safely together they remembered that she was still outside. The town leader rushed to the door to pull the her inside. But there, at the door, he beheld an amazing sight. She was outside, drenched with a mix of sweat and rain. She held two sticks, one in each hand. She punched and kicked and swung at the molten green creatures. And by the time the rain was stopping, she had defeated all but one. But the fatigue was too much. Every little scrape worked against her as she struggled to stay alive. She was losing health quickly, and with one unexpected blow from the creature, she was gone. Two sticks on the ground were the only remnants of her heroism. Two sticks and many glowing orbs. The village leader roared in fury and pain, prepared to pummel the last strange creature for what it had done. It only took one hit to destroy it. And then the rain stopped, the sun shone, the village emerged from hiding. “Fighter,” they said after hearing the story. They savored the word, which meant so many things. “She is Fighter”

Hope you liked it!

-sofa_spyer_t