I fall to one knee. The omnipresent snow saturates my jeans in moments. It keeps falling. I pant. The bitter cold seeps in anyway.
Snow dragon smiles. Scarlet-haired, a red line across his pale face, he savors a quick victory. His front stance lightens. Bravado. A mistake.
“Why not embrace the inevitable, Golden Dragon?” He asks. Cocky, now.
I rise to my full height. A step into half stance, arms moving in a crane block. Then, a gentle drop to a cat stance, hands at the ready. Save for the one gesturing, “come.”
He does, with preternatural speed equalling mine. An overconfident, over extended thrust. One I pivot from, deflect, and catch his now open torso with my counter.
A spear strike through his sternum.
Dying, he asks, “why?”
I answer…
“Snow would be the easy way out.”
We write prosery tonight over at dVerse Poets Pub, tended by Kim.
The Pub is open! Come join us!
Frank J. Tassone 
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