Flash Fiction: The Beautiful End

So this is suicide.

The moment of great death.

A silly expedition towards inevitable failure.

The monstrosity brings his weapon back and all air disappears from the battlefield.

Then he swings it forward and a hurricane-like gale batters all.

The commander watches twenty go down with the blow. One of his men gets back up. He is missing both arms at the bicep.

Blood spurts furiously.

But the soldier’s beserker rage compels him to attack and he throws his body against the massive foe.

The rhino snorts, spraying snot and disrespect. His hide is pebbly and rock-hard-impossible. The dying soldier bounces off worthless and is caught under a giant foot. Even in the din of combat, the crack of ribs is audible and stomach-churning.

The battle is far from over.

Men die.

That’s what they do.

And this is a match worth finishing.

The commander unties his cape and flaps it dangerously in the air.

The rhino spots the stupid ruse sets eyes on the tall man from the South and charges.

The commander crouches ready. To him, a fight is a fight and this one is about to get good.

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