The death of Cyranose, Part 1

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The death of Cyranose, Part 1

October 6 2006 at 10:21 PM

It was strange. It was quieter around the campus than usual. There were occasional punctuations of explosions, crashes, and screams, but the overall noise level was lower when the bursts were over. And there weren’t as many people around.

It had all started when the Harbinger of Death had invited the entire campus to choose their own death. A surprising number of red shirt hunters chose to be trampled to death by Anne Nicole; it wasn’t a pretty sight. None of the deaths appealed to Cyranose, nor did the concept of dying (yet again) hold any allure. But apparently this was yet another of the strange traditions of the university: die, be resurrected at the Harbinger’s house, have a big party.

Perhaps it was the resurrection business that disturbed Cyranose the most. If death holds no permanence, then where is the poetry? Why compose an ode whilst bleeding your literal heart out, when you’d be up and about the next day?

Perhaps it was a demonstration of the meaningless nature of life and death. Perhaps Cyranose had drank too much the previous night.

Lacking in enthusiasm, Cyranose wandered the displays of death. Many were amusing, some were quite disturbing. He avoided the strange little motorized cart that Shoshana chose, for some reason he did not like carts or things with wheels.

"Honor!", he realized. "All of these deaths are meaningless, they serve little dispatch except to send the soul to the hereafter in a horrific fashion and with a fair amount of carnage. One might as well sleep on the sands of the Giza and be consumed by jackals!"

With that he turned and returned to the Battlefield. If he must die, he would find something more fitting a swordsman of his renown. A death with panache, a death with a bit of a challenge. That would be satisfactory.

To Be Continued...