#toxophilus

“I created you and I can just as easily end you. You were the chosen one!” yelled the mun.

“Seriously? Are you really quoting both Victor Frankenstein and Obi-Wan Kenobi in just two sentences?” Tom chided.

“Well, you know me, you little Athenian shit: I’m a nerd at heart. You’ve betrayed me.” Chuck mun rebuked.

“Not much we can do about that, hmm?” Tom taunted.

With that, they were off, duking it out with their fists, whatever they could grab, and even their own weapons. Chuck mun had a pen and paper—whatever he wrote would come to life and support him in this endeavor. He began to write Shakespeare’s Hamlet, and what do you know, a copy of the play appeared before him. Chuck mun chucked it at Tom, who caught the book by reflex and stared at it stargazed. He was so perplexed by the language that his dyslexia began to go into overactive states. Chuck mun used this to his advantage and walloped Tom right in the face with a right jab. Unfortunately, while this definitely sent Tom on his ass, Tom’s dyslexia was broken from the blow and he dropped the distracting piece of literature, focusing on the true enemy.

Tom whipped out his pen and notepad, tossing them into the air and snapping his fingers, a celestial bronze spear and shield summoned at his command. He caught them both gracefully and seemed to evolve from a confused genius into a rather agitated Greek warrior.

“Oh fu—“ was all Chuck mun could get out before the shield connected a blow to his face, sending ripples through his skin and pain pulsating through his head. He doubled backwards, rolling and stumbling onto his feet, still trying to regain his bearings as Tom closed in for the kill. Some sort of adrenal instinct kicked in, causing Chuck mun to feint aside the spear and roll under Tom’s shield, landing a left hook on Tom’s diaphragm as he completed the dodge. Tom was so winded he hunched over, giving Chuck mun the moment to seize to kick him right in his ass, knocking him to the floor. Chuck mun pinned Tom down by his back, who now did not have a proper weapon to counter this. Chuck mun pried Tom’s shield from his left hand, now using it to smack Tom upside the back of his head and knock him out cold. Chuck mun brought out his pen and paper, shaking his head solemnly at his muse in contempt and absolute disappointment. He wrote on the paper shackles and handcuffs with no key until I write otherwise, now locking his muse down and watching as Tom’s spear and shield reverted to a notepad and pen. He was ready to toss them as far as he could out of anger, but instead he slumped to the ground and rubbed his bloodied and bruised face. He opened up the notepad to the last page, feeling searing hot tears well up beneath his eyelids. It read I’m sorry, mun. These must’ve been Tom’s last words before he was taken over.