A Discussion Between Two Men

A non-descript battlefield. Sounds of pain and despair can be heard and the smell of death and gunpowder fills one‘s nostrils. Nothing but the dance macabre of thousands upon thousands of soldiers as far as the eye can see. In the middle of the battlefield, two men walk towards a small table and two chairs. One is wearing a pitch black suit, the other �" completely white. Their faces are identical.

“Here we go again. Another pointless battle for the ideals of men sitting comfortably who only have one desire �" more power.” Says the white one.

“The nature of man.” The black one replies. “And yet, we’re here to gather what remains.”

“I despise this game.” White sighs. “But, if it is what it takes to save these souls…”

“Save them?” Black laughs. “You’re here to devour and strengthen the supposed ‘Light’ of this world. The end result will be the same. Do you know what this battle is about?”

“I do not, and I do not care.”

“Such ignorance… You call yourself the messenger of Light?”

“I do, since this thing… This bloodshed… Can only be described as a power struggle between two men who send the poor and young to their deaths.”

“And they’re both hiding behind the Light of their God.” Black laughs. “Enough talk, let’s play.”

“You choose the game…” White sighs. “I did the last time.”

Black grins as the two men sit by the table. On the table, a revolver with an empty drum. Black grabs a bullet from one of the dead and inserts it into the weapon.

“We spin after each trigger pulled. No influence save for our hands spinning it.” He explains.

“You leave such a thing to luck?” White looks disgusted, albeit his disgust seems to be more of a mask.

“Your oh so loved game of chess is always the same thing. I only need to switch my tactic slightly to win.”

“But we’re still equal in our victories.”

“Indeed. You start, my dear messenger.” Black laughs, the name implied to be an insult.

White takes the revolver without a word, spins the drum, then puts it against his head. He does not falter as he pulls the trigger. Then, he hands the gun to Black.

“You’re quite lucky, aren’t you?” Black laughs, taking the weapon. Then, as if daring Death herself, he wraps his lips around the barrel. Click, and nothing happens.

“You forgot to spin, my dear.” White winks.

Black scowls, spins the drum, aims the gun at the ground and pulls the trigger twice, both shots empty, then he wraps his lips again, to pull the trigger. No result once again.

“Spin to your heart’s content, the loser has been decided long ago.” He says, handing the drool covered weapon to his playmate.

White seems to realize the words of his enemy, takes the weapon, spins the drum. Then, without saying a word, he aims it at Black’s chest and pulls the trigger. The bullet fazes through Black’s suit and hits a dead body behind him.

“Foul play.” Black laughs and leans back against his chair. “I win.”

White sighs and realizes he fell for Black’s ploy. “No matter how much I span the barrel, it always landed on the same location it was, didn’t it.”

Black nods calmly. “Indeed it did. Russian Roulette is played like that, isn’t it?”

White stands up and shrugs. “These men are yours, do with them as you will. Man will see the truth I bring eventually.”

Black stands up and smiles. “You say that, but how about we let Man decide on his own? I see a perfect example, one who can even see us!” He laughs.

While the two performed their dance macabre on the already quiet battlefield, a single man was crawling towards them, to what he thought was his salvation. Little did he realize that he was long a dead man. His chest agape, there was no chance of survival, yet he still clung to life.

“Him? He can see us? He’s dead!” The man in white shakes his head.

“No. Feel the strength of his soul �" it brought the dead body here, but the mind is still with the soul, it can see and understand us. The man will suffice. Let’s make a little bet.” The man in white smiles simply, no cruel or evil intention behind it, save for a gambler’s look in his eyes.

“Very well. What is the bet and what are your stakes?” The two men’s time is almost over in this place, the duo about to return to their world. Wings shot out of the white man’s back.

“We let the man interact with the Chosen. We see what the reaction is. However, neither of us interferes. The winner is decided by the color of his soul. And if you win, we spend the rest of time playing your games when we decide these battles.”

The man in black’s eyes were shining with the energy of the souls of the dead he had already harvested. His ideals were simple and he didn’t hide behind anything.

“These souls are all for me, for my power, the same you would’ve done with them.” He laughs again, long horns forcing out of his forehead.

“And if you win, the same stake �" we play your games.” The angel nods.

They shake on it and reach towards the dead man, hoping him to be the witness of the bet. However, the man’s soul was only strong enough to put his hand on top of the two’s. With that, the Angel, Devil and the Dead Man left this world of ours, marking another battlefield with pointless and soon to be forgotten death. Nothing but sorrow will be brought home, but the names will only be remembered on paper, at best. Another battlefield thrust into oblivion for blind ideals. On that, the Angel and Devil agreed.

Reviews

[Kyline Freed]

I love this story! But if I were you I'd add a little more detail, I was beginning to get a little confused and couldn't hold on to the story very well because lack of detail, try to add like how their voice sounds or how they look besides what they are wearing. Great job otherwise!

[Simonas Majauskas]

The idea is that the two men are nothing but symbols for their sides, as Black calls out White on. Thanks for the review :)