Student Anthology Submission for Your Enjoyment

This past semester, one of the students with my MFA program started an anthology project for all students and alumni to feature short pieces of work including excerpts, poems, flash fiction, and vignettes. Last time I submitted a short scene from my Dust Bowl novel and this time around I am sending in the beginning segment (almost a prologue I guess) to my creative thesis. I thought I would share it here just for fun and because my mentor, who hates prologues, absolutely loved.

The Lesson

Excerpt from The Death Man

By Amanda LaFantasie

“Isn’t one blade enough. Why do we need three?” he asked.

“The same reason a painter needs more than one brush.” The Death Man ran his finger down along the smooth and perfectly chiseled blood groove of the executioner’s sword. “It all depends on your goal. If you just want to kill a man, you use the ax. If you want to dismember him and decorate the stage with his blood, then you use the machete. But if you want to deliver the kiss of death, you swing this sword through his neck and you give him peace.” He lifted the sword, holding it horizontally before the boy.

Beyond the old man’s window the sky was red with a summer sunset and it cast a crimson hue upon the blade, making it look as if it had drawn blood from the air itself.

“The tip’s broken,” the boy said.

“It’s not broken. It was made this way. Blunt and smooth. This sword was never meant for stabbing. It is a work of art. Light enough to wield with grace yet heavy enough to part skin, muscle, and bone with a single flick of the wrist. And it’s sharp. Hold out your arm.”

The boy did as asked. He knew his mentor would cut him, but all fear of pain had been beaten out of him long ago. Sucking in a breath, almost excited by the promise of blood, he waited. His mentor pressed the blade to his flesh and gave a quick slice. The boy felt nothing.

In silence he examined his arm. His eyebrows drew tight in confusion. There didn’t seem to be a cut.

“Wait for it,” said the Death Man.

A moment passed. As if by magic, a thin beaded line of blood appeared and with it came the first touch of pain, a hot concentrated sting. The boy watched in fascination as the beads grew fat and spilled out from the cut leaving red tributaries on his skin. It was deep, much deeper than he’d first thought. He put his hand on the wound, but it did little to stop the blood from squeezing out and dripping all over his mentor’s floor. But the Death Man didn’t seem to care. About anything.

“Take a man’s head with this blade and he will not suffer. It is a blade reserved only for those who deserve a painless death.”

“And who deserves a painless death?” The boy couldn’t take his eyes off the sword.

“Everyone,” the Death Man replied, and in the same breath he amended, “no one.” He returned the sword to its sheath and set it back on the stand. “Only the beloved of the Luminary are granted such a death.”

“But if they are his beloved then why kill them?” The boy knew he shouldn’t ask so many questions but his mentor was the only person he’d met in a long time who was so willing to answer.

            “Sometimes we have to kill the ones we love.” He pulled a wad of gauze from his medicine bag. “Wrap up your arm. The lesson’s just begun.”