Author's Note: This was actually supposed to be the prologue for another story I'm writing but I think it works quite well on it's own so I've decided to post it as a short story instead. If anyone's interested in it, then I can post the whole thing but otherwise here it is in all its short story glory. Personally, I think it could use a bit more work anyway. Please R+R, all comments and critiques welcome. Cheers.

CHILDISH GAMES

"The swords clash once again, glinting in the moonlight and somehow drowning out the sounds of the pouring rain surrounding them. The battle is becoming more and more frantic with every passing second. When will it end? Why can't Princess Jihara defeat him? Why is it that with every passing second she grows weaker while her evil twin brother seems to grow so much stronger?

"She raises the sword high above her head and strikes downwards at Prince Truinthal. He merely stepps backwards, not even bothering to parry the blow. The sword comes down upon the black tiles with a loud 'clang', cracking them.

"He tosses his head back and laughs triumplantly. Then he stares down at his younger sister and says..." Tryska Willkens handed the crumpled piece of paper to her slightly older twin brother.

For a split second the dark, thundering clouds subsided and the fancy, imaginary armour the children wore disintegrated into thin air. The large, crumbling temple surrounding them faded into nothing, leaving a small living room full of beat-up furniture encirle the ‘warriors’. It was a bright, sunny day outside, and the warm light flooded in through the windows as the final reminder that the story Tryska had written was only a game, nothing more.

"'You cannot defeat me with a sword, dear sister!'" Jarryd read aloud. "'You cannot defeat pure evil with evil!'

He lowered the wooden stick he substituted for a sword sword and circled his sister menacingly. The red-haired, twelve-year-old girl was crouched in the middle of the living room in what was soon to be her dramatic defeat. She pretended to breathe hard, feigning weakness.

"Jihara glares up at Truinthal as he continues to circle her,” Jarryd continued. "'Any normal sword is evil, it is used for destruction only! Therefore should a black sword pierce a black heart it will only make that heart stronger. You cannot defeat me dear sister, you never could, not in the manner that you attempt anyway. I drank the dark waters of the evil fountain of Hades; I became everything I wanted to be. And now, I will destroy you!'

"He raises the sword high above his head, turning the blade downwards so that when it falls it shell pierce her back and end her life." Jarryd lifted his stick and held it up above Tryska's back. "But as it falls Jihara suddenly dives into a roll and climbs back to her feet. She grabs a dagger hidden within her tunic and holds it up in front of her."

Tryska leapt into a forward roll and hit her leg on the side of the small coffee table. "Ow."

She bit her lip and rubbed the sore spot on her leg – that was going to leave a mark.

“Stupid table,” she muttered.

Climbing to her feet, she dug about in the side pocket of her jeans and pulled out an ordinary butter knife. She held it in front of her proudly as Jarryd handed her back the paper.

"'Behold! The dagger of Zeus!' Jihara announces. 'Forged from lightning itself! Forged from the good heart of the King of the Gods himself! Created only to destroy the evil Hades itself spat back out!'

"The blade glows with an ethereal blue light. It gives Jihara the strength she needs to destroy her evil brother. Her evil brother, who murdered their parents and destroyed their land. Her evil brother, who sent her off to die in a desert infested with evil monsters he himself created.

"'With the power of the Gods on my side, I will destroy you!' she tells him.”

Tryska handed the paper back to Jarryd, who once again began to read aloud. "'Alas! The Gods have given you the only weapon in the cosmos that can destroy me! But even though you have this weapon, it will not save you from a grisly fate by my hand!'

"He launches himself at Jihara, and once more a battle to a death by swords commences." Jarryd leapt onto the sofa and swung the stick at Tryska.

Tryska parried the blows with her own stick, hissing out the sound-effects of the blades cracking against one another.

"Truinthal attacks relentlessly, determined not to let his sister, a stupid little girl defeat him, a great warrior worthy of the throne of the Dead. Jihara is on the defense; she desperately blocks the coming blows. But no matter how hard she tries; she just can't seem to stab Truinthal with the dagger. They both know that if that blade touches Truinthal, the battle will be over, and Jihara will win.

"With this in mind Truinthal fights harder than ever. He leaps atop the throne." Jarryd jumped onto the sofa and continued attacking 'Jihara'. "But as he does Jihara sees her chance and siezes it. She swings her sword down at Truinthal's leg and wounds him in the knee."

Tryska let out a choked roar and smacked Jarryd on the right knee.

"Ow! Tryska! Not so hard!" Jarryd scolded, rubbing his leg.

"Sorry," Tryska replied.

"'AARRGH!' He cries out in pain," Jarryd continued, dropping onto his back on the sofa. "He falls to the ground and clutches his leg as blood blacker and thicker than ink itself begins to pour out from the fresh wound. Jihara lets out a roar and slams the dagger down at Truinthal. Still his determination..."

Jarryd stopped and handed the page to Tryska. "Page is out."

"Huh? Oh, okay." Tryska took the page and set it down on the table and picked up another. She began to read. "...keep him from giving in to Jihara's coming blow. He brings his sword up just in time to stop the blade from coming and destroying him. With a swift flick of his blade, Truinthal knocks the pure blade from Jihara's hand."

Jarryd twisted the stick in his hand while Tryska dropped the butterknife. It landed on the sofa; Jarryd frowned, picked it up and tossed it across the room. Tryska hid a smile at the clumsiness of their game.

"He points the blade at Jihara. Just as he stabs, Jihara jumps back, out of range from Truinthal's attack."

As Tryska stepped away from the sofa she tripped backwards on the small table and fell to the ground.

"You alright?" Jarryd asked.

Tryska clumsily scurried to her feet. "I'm fine, I'm fine."

"Wanna call it quits?"

"Hell no! It's just getting good!"

"Okay, if you say so."

Tryska turned her attention back to the page. "Truinthal slowly stands, still clutching his wounded leg but holding his sword out in front of him, ready to defend himself against Jihara. She slowly backed away from him, Truinthal made sure to maintain the same distance between them, he knew if he didn't then Jihara would make a run for the fallen dagger."

Tryska passed the paper to Jarryd.

"'I wouldn't make any moves for that blade if I were you, dear sister,' Truinthal growls through gritted teeth. 'Raise your sword and fight me fair.'

"Jihara raises her sword as thunder and lightning split the darkened sky. A cold gust of wind picks up and rustles through her blood red hair."

Tryska shook her head about, trying to give the appearance of wind blowing through her hair. She swished her head about and pursed her lips slightly. The movement was far from dramatic, in fact the sight was more humourous than either of the children had intended. Jarryd watched her and burst out into fits of laughter. Tryska followed suit, blushing bright red with embarrasment but seeing the humour in her actions nonetheless. The boy grabbed the page from his sister and stared at the words in a blatant attempt to sobre himself up. He could barely contain his giggling, but he managed to continue the story:

"Appearing to do what her brother commands of her she raises her sword, ready to end this fight once and for all. The pair begin to circle each other, waiting for the other to make their move.

"Suddenly, as another bolt of lightning splits across the sky, Jihara moves. But not toward Truinthal.

"'No!' Truinthal knew exactly what it was she was doing.

"Jihara runs toward the spot where the dagger lies waiting."

Tryska dived over the sofa and landed on the wooden floor with a thud. "Ow!"

She scrambled about for the butterknife. "Hey, where's the knife?"

Jarryd looked up from the page. "What?"

"I can't find it."

"What do you mean you can't find it? It should be right there."

"Well it's not. Where did you throw it?"

"Behind the sofa."

Tryska stood up and frowned at Jarryd. "Has it occured to you yet that I'm looking behind the sofa?"

Jarryd sighed. Tryska shook her head and dropped back down to her knees as her brother climbed onto the sofa and to watch her search.

"Never mind, found it," she told him after a moment.

"Where was it?" Jarryd asked.

"Under the sofa."

"How did it get there?"

"Don't ask me, let's just play alright?"

Jarryd resumed his position and continued reading. "Jihara ran toward the spot where the dagger lay waiting.

"As fast as he can move with his wounded leg, Truinthal stumbles toward her. His sword held high, he leaps up into the air, preparing himself to come down upon Jihara and rid him of her once and for all. But just as he's about to land, Jihara spins. Truinthal can see the dagger glowing between her fingers!"

Jarryd climbed onto the sofa and jumped up, still reading and brandishing his stick about.

"Truinthal's eyes widen, his heart leaps to his throat. This is the moment of truth, when it is decided which one will live and which one will die, when the fate of the land itself will be determined.

"He comes down and lands." Jarryd jumped down off the sofa and landed next to Tryska.

Tryska began a stabbing motion with the butterknife.

"Both the warriors have their weapons poised to strike. Truinthal stabs downwards as Jihara stabs up. Suddenly ear-splitting, blood curdling, fear-filled screams of death split the sky, but only one warrior falls down dead. The winner stares at the freshly-killed body triumphantly, a smile crawling across -"

The game came to an abrupt end as the front door flew open. Both of the twins new the sound of that door opening so suddenly.

“Uh-oh…” Tryska muttered.

“He’s home early today,” Jarryd murmured.

The pair scooped up the pieces of paper scattered across the coffee table and clumsily grabbed the sticks as loud footsteps began to echo down the hall toward the living room.

“Jarryd! Tryska!” came their father’s booming voice.

He didn’t sound happy to be home. And he sounded slightly drunk already, despite it still being early in the afternoon.

“Which one of you rats has been playing out by the train tracks again?!” he shrieked.

“Oh shit!” Jarryd cried.

The children clumsily grabbed what was left of their props and raced through the living room toward the kitchen. If they could just make it to the back door then –

“Arrgh!” Tryska let out a sharp cry as a large hand snatched the back of her t-shirt and yanked her backwards.

“Tryska!” Jarryd cried.

But Tryska said nothing as she fell to the ground, her head cracking against the edge of the doorframe. Jarryd watched as his father spun and slapped a dazed Tryska across the face. Jarryd shuddered, not daring to leave his sister alone but fearful that at any second his father could turn around and unleash his fury on the boy. He stood frozen in fear, trembling violently with the pages of writing still in his hands. He glanced at the paper, eyes scanning the words.

No, he wasn’t going to be the evil twin brother anymore. It was time for him to stand up and be the hero. Finding the courage in himself, he grabbed one of the two sticks they had used only moments ago as swords.

“Leave her alone!” he shrieked, swinging the stick down across the back of his father’s head.

With a sharp cry, the drunk man slumped to the ground, unconscious. The house fell eerily quiet for a brief moment, then whimpering came from the crumpled girl crouched in the corner. Tears stained her cheeks as she stared at her father lying still on the floor.

“These aren’t games anymore, Jarryd,” she sobbed quietly. “We’re in trouble now.”