The Day I Brought a Gun to a Knife Fight

Short fiction about sharp contrasts.

I arrived at the forest at a quarter to noon. Enough time for pleasantries and preamble.

“Where’s your knife?” my rival asked.

“I have to measure the blade,” my rival’s second said. “Six inches, max. Your guy measured ours already.”

“Five and seven-eighths,” Chet said. “Legit. Give him your blade.”

“Blade?”

“Dude!” Chet said. “You didn’t bring a knife? I thought you were kidding when you texted me! What did you bring?”

I showed them what I brought.

“You idiot,” Chet said.

The other two were all WTF.

“I thought we agreed on a weapon,” I said.

“They said non-projectile weapon,” Chet said.

“We said non-projectile weapon,” my rival said.

“We said non-projectile weapon,” my rival’s second said.

Chet snatched the gun, removed the bullets, gave it back.

“Now what?” I said.

“We have to start at noon,” my rival’s second said. “Or did you forget that part of the contract, too?”

Chet raised the American Indian peace sign. “We have a few minutes. I have something in my car.”

“Better hurry,” my rival said as Chet ran off. “Rules are rules. Not my fault this guy brought the wrong weapon. I can technically start stabbing at noon.”

“What if I brought a baseball bat?” I said.

“The length limit on cudgels is twelve inches,” my rival’s second said. “Did you read the contract at all?”

I told them I hated reading fine print. They said that habit was gonna bite me in the ass someday.

“You guys would really start without me having a weapon?” I said.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” my rival said.

The rival’s second said, “We had a duel where the other guy, the blade fell out of the handle. Right before we were about to begin. He bent down to pick it up right at noon. Tough shit for him.”

“Bending down exposed the back of his neck,” my rival said. “Pretty easy.” He demonstrated a downward thrust.

I said that was pretty quick thinking.

“Rules are rules,” my rival said. “I mean, look at you. All you had to do was bring a non-projectile weapon. That means no guns, no slingshot, no bows. Actually, you could bring an arrow to stab with, but you can’t throw it.”

I saw Chet running toward us. The sun reflected off something in his hand, but he seemed so far away.

“It’s already noon,” my rival’s second said. “We’ll have to get started. Rules are rules.”

“Quick question,” I said to my rival as he shifted into an imposing attack stance. “Would the arrow be judged as a blade because of the point, or a cudgel because of the shaft?”

My rival relaxed his stance to consider this. “Hmm. I guess that depends on the rules and how you plan to use the thing.”

Then I stabbed him in the eye with my gun.