The Gristle

Media Prompt: Pick a random song on your music playing device, and write a story based on the first thing the song makes you think about.

The Gristle walked out of the forest alone, late to the fight.  In front of him, a grassy field rolled across a small river and up the other bank to a fortified town.  Mist lay over the landscape and the sun was just cresting the eastern ridge.  The dim sparks of breakfast fires letting him know that he was in at the right place.  He wondered why the host had not been formed up for the first attack.

Stomping into the camp, he glared at each group of soldiers eating their gruel.  None of them would meet his eye.  Upon reaching the command tent, The Gristle threw aside the flap and charged in, beard bristling.  "Why you no attack?" he yelled at the General still in his small clothes.

"Ah, Mister The Gristle."  The General sat up from his bed and faced the angry wall of muscle before him.  "We don't attack because we don't want to."

"No want to?  But you have orders."

"That is correct.  We've been ordered by our sovereign, may he shine forever, to attack this town.  Do you know why we have been ordered to attack this town?"

"No matter.  You have orders, you attack."

"But, you see, it does matter.  Our king, blessed be his name, wants this small town destroyed because they will not give him a percentage of their bridge tolls."

"So attack them."

"Yes, well, it occurred to me to ask how much of those bridge tolls the men and I would get.  And, as soon as it occurred to me, the answer became self evident: none.  I then took it upon myself to ask the men, all of those nice fellows that you see scattered across the landscape, if they thought that dying for tolls that they would never get seemed like a good idea.  None of them thought it was.  Not a one.  So instead of forming up for an attack, we're having a morning in.  So far it's been lovely."

"And what of town?"

"Oh, they can keep their bridge tolls and such.  We thought we'd take a dip in the river a bit later.  Then men are getting a bit ripe.  Maybe some of the townspeople will join us."

"But you must attack!  You have orders!"

"We also have all of the army.  The king, may he fart roses, does not."

The Gristle was unhappy.  He had been told that there would be a fight, a battle and that he could increase the number of ears on his necklace.  Now this General is saying that there will not be a fight.  That made The Gristle mad.  When The Gristle got mad, he yelled.  So The Gristle yelled at the General, his loudest battle cry, and shook his ax.

The General covered his face to avoid the spray.  He then picked up the small dagger that he was using to eat his breakfast sausage and pushed it into The Gristle's neck.

"Hmm," said the General.  "Now I'm going to need to get that rug cleaned.  It really pulls the tent together.  Where's my dogsbody?"

[Inspired by "Sparks" by The Do]

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