The sword felt heavier than usual and in his hands was his trademark quiver. He slung it over the shoulder, dropping a couple of arrows in the process. Ignoring them he walked as if directed by a higher power.
He brought down the sword to a blast of red from his foe’s face, his forehead bursting into sweat at the same time as the audience broke into applause.
They knew that the death was as fake as the look of morbidity on the actors’ faces – yet they could feel no less stunned as if they had just watched a live murder. Such was the acting that they could feel death in the air.
The stagehand chuckled and rubbed his hands in glee. By swapping the prop sword for a real one, he had made a weapon of the antagonist.
Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers Week (October 6 – October 12, 2015) – 139 words.
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