The Challenge:
Mr. Boyd vs. Charlie
The Verdict:
The midafternoon sun beat down mercilessly. Steam rose from the green leaves that covered the ground. High in a
tree, the birds and other jungle wildlife were unnaturally silent. There wasn't a trace of movement anywhere. The
air smelled.. wrong. It was hard to describe, but it definately wasn't "right". This wasn't a place anyone would
want to be in for very long, much less come to more than once. But for John Boyd, this had become home. He was on
his 6th tour of Vietnam, and he loved it. Well, "loved it" doesn't really describe how he felt about this place, but
there really are no words to descibe his feelings, so it will have to do.
From his position behind a rotting log at the top of a slight rise in the ground, John could see the whole clearing
below him. The clearing had been made months before by the Gooks for some reason known only to their crazy minds,
but there was a path leading straight through it that was travelled heavily by Charlie. So here it was that John
Boyd lay and waited, never moving, and completely silent.
He had always been a kind of loner. People who loved war like he did always were. He never went out on a mission
with anyone else; Always alone. As he put it, "People are stupid. If I'm going to die from someone making a stupid
mistake, that person is going to be me. No one else." This attitude had carried over from his first tour when he
was waiting in an ambush not unlike the one he was in today (except that there were 5 of them there that day), and
one of the other fucknuts sneezed. The Gooks had captured them and tortured them mercilessly before killing them.
John alone had escaped, but not before losing his left testicle and a small portion of his sanity.
So he waited alone. Waiting for Charlie. Charlie always came, and went. And he would come today. But today, he
wouldn't be leaving.
A centipede slithered across the back of John's arm, but he didn't twitch a muscle. It was so quiet he could hear
the centipede crawling across the moss that was covering the rotting log. He heard a faint noise behind the small
scurrying, though. It was a bigger noise. Not particularly louder, just bigger, although it was growing louder each
moment. He knew that sound. There was really only one thing it could be. It was Charlie.
He patiently waited while the noise grew ever louder and Charlie slowly made his way down the little path towards the
clearing. He could see some faint movement between the trees now. It wouldn't be long before he was in complete
view. John looked through his scope at the treeline and waited. He rarely used his rifle, to shoot with anyway,
preferring the silence and satisfaction of his knife. He did use the scope on his rifle quite often though, and now,
through it, he could see Charlie entering the far edge of the clearing.
Charlie walked into the clearing. He was one of the few who actually called himself Charlie as well, for that was
really his name. Charlie Sullivan. He had been on this path many times before, but today something felt a little
off. Was it the air? It smelled different. It was quiet. Too quiet. He slowly walked toward the middle of the
clearing. No, there was definately something different here today. He scanned the trees looking for anything out of
place, but didn't see anything. But something was out there. He knew it. He slowly reached to his belt and pulled
out his nunchucks. They were his favorite weapon.
John silently watched all this, knowing that Charlie had somehow sensed him. He knew he hadn't seen him yet, but it
was only a matter of time. He couldn't wait much longer. He had been waiting here for five hours without moving a
muscle and he really wanted a piece of Charlie. Suddenly, he stood up. Charlie instantly turned to face him.
Mr. Boyd pulled his knife from it's sheath. This was no standard issue. He had made it himself, and it was as sharp
and lethal as he was. He stepped into the clearing and put his hand out. He turned his palm face up and made a
"c'mon, fucker" motion with his fingers. Charlie's eyes blazed. He held his nunchucks in both hands, made the veins
pop out in his neck, and screamed a warcry in whatever language those crazy gooks spoke. He started running straight
at Mr. Boyd, holding his arms out, down, and slightly back behind his body.
John had never seen an attack like this before, and he had been in at least 200 fights back home before he joined the
army. This was unprecedented. It was odd. It was.. incredibly stupid. He watched Charlie get closer and closer,
never varying his direction, speed, or posture. The gap between them shrank rapidly. Charlie rammed his chest
directly into Mr. Boyd, but John didn't move. His feet were planted firmly and he had braced himself. Charlie
staggered back with an incredulous look on his face. He blinked and looked down. The handle of Mr. Boyd's knife
protruded from his chest, just to the left and slightly below his sternum. He coughed and a thick ribbon of dark red
blood slid out of his mouth and fell to the ground at his feet. He raised his nunchucks in his right hand and looked
at John. He staggered back a step and then fell over backwards.
John walked over and squatted next to him. He pulled his knife from Charlie's chest and wiped it clean on Charlie's
shirt. Then he stood and looked around. He always felt better right after a kill. His senses were always
hightened. He could tell that things were getting back to normal around here too. The air smelled better already,
and he could hear a bird chirping in a tree somewhere. He heard a squirrel scampering among the branches. Off in
the distance he heard a ringing sound. That was odd. He was in the middle of the jungle. But there it was, and it
was growing insistantly louder. He looked around, trying to locate the source of the sound, but all he saw were
trees. But wait, the trees were shimmering. They were almost becoming translucent. They were fading in and out of
existance, being replaced by walls. And here in the clearing, the shrubs and logs were fading as well, they were
changing, becoming desks. Suddenly it all snapped at once and he was standing in the middle of his classroom. He
looked around and saw his students all huddled against the walls, cowering in fear. He looked at the floor and saw
Charlie's lifeless, bloodsoaked body. "What have I done?" he thought to himself. "It was so real! It was like I
was there again."
When he looked back up into the eyes of his frightened class, his face betrayed nothing of what he had just thought
to himself. With complete control and cold blooded confidence, he asked, "So, in the story, 'The Astronomer's Wife',
by Kay Boyle, who can tell me why the Astronomer's wife decided to follow the plumber?"
