The Swordsman and the Cell Phone

(AKA: Why Underage Fantasy Heroes Never Have Parents)

            The sweat on his palms made his grip on the sword slip ever so slightly, the blade feeling impossibly heavy in his hands. The coppery smell of blood and the fetid aroma of burnt flesh wafted from the ground, causing his stomach to do flip-flops even as he stared his opponent down. He chanced a glance at his surroundings - so much death, so much blood, so many bodies. Impossibly blue eyes lingered on him, drawing his attention away from the sight and back to the thing that stood before him. A demon, blood dripping from fangs and claws; narrow eyes taking in more than any human could hope to see.

            But he was no human, no minor being to be trifled with. With the power of his God inside him, and his grandfather's last possession embedded into the pommel of his sword, he was unstoppable. He shifted slightly in place, gaining a surer footing and readjusting his grip to better suit his purpose. He had a job to do, young though he may have been - he had to kill the cause of so much suffering. He had come here, to the creature's own realm, to end it all.

            His moves were sure and swift when he attacked, sword flashing out like a silent assassin, its aim true.  And moments before his weapon struck flesh, he opened his mouth to scream a war cry.

            And instead, a catchy jingle played in horrible techno tones flooded the area. He froze, his sword inches away from the beast's heart. He held up a finger - the sign for, "Just a minute." Reaching into his back pocket - past the Luminous Stone, the Oracle's Prophecy, the Magic Lute, and the Ancient Rod - and pulled out his cell phone, immediately pressing the green button and placing the item up to his ear.

            "Hello?" An angry voice raved at him from the other end of the call, a myriad of obscenities and curses flowing out of the ear piece as he held it away at arm's length. The demon cocked its head to the side, a knowing grin spreading across its scaly lips.

            "Mo-om!" he whined, drawing the word out with an annoying bit of drama. "I already told you I was gonna be late! I mean, I'm kinda busy killing off the bad guy! Can I get back to saving the world now, please?" He was silent for a moment as his mother responded. "Today was the only day I haven't made my bed in a month! C'mon, Mom - you can't ground me for that! I'll be home for dinner - I swear!" Another silence.

            "Thank-you, Mom." He ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. He muttered angrily, "Psycho..." He looked up at the demon, its smile infuriating him even more. His sword flashed out, lethal steel. The cut was clean and simple. The demon dropped to the floor, dead, black blood pooling around its head. He brushed his hands together, as if attempting to rid himself of the demon's taint. Turning slowly, he began to the long walk back to the Witch's Portal.

            Briiiiiiing, briiiiiiiing.

            "Yes, Mom, I'll stop at the store on my way home. Now stop nagging me, would ya'?"

Inspired by a discussion I had with my parents at dinner. I told them why I felt that all my characters couldn't have parents since they would get in the way, always calling and checking up and getting angry when you're late. My dad seemed to think that it would make an interesting and funny story. And since a badly timed phone call could really get in the way of getting rid of the bad guy, I chose to write about it. Hope you enjoyed!