SHIFT CHANGE

(c) KES

The dove, bloodied and no longer breathing, lies in pieces on the floor.

The swordsmen vie for the parts that belong to them—

Retired, recent, renewed.

Silently, swords clash and clang.

Fine blades nicking, slicing.

Scarlet drops hit the emerald floor unnoticed.

They circle each other, lunging and feigning.

It’s a mating dance.

Porthos feigns and thrusts forward. Too fast.

Blood pools in Aramis’s chest. White lace turns crimson.

He falls, dropping his pieces.

Porthos neglects to pick them up.

Athos lunges forward with renewed strength and collects what belongs to him.

Porthos stumbles, bleeding.

He’s been stabbed in the back.

He falls, dropping his pieces.

Athos doesn’t neglect picking them up.

The dove, reassembled and barely breathing, looks small and fragile in his hand.