“Hey idiot! Mozart called. He said he wanted his hairstyle back. You better get walking or else I’m going to write a requiem with your blood.” The sword barked, trying to force its way out of the sheathe. Barry kept one hand on the handle, keeping it shoved into the sheathe, giving an awkward smile to the biker who had turned around in the burger shop line.

“Did you compare me to Mozart?” The man huffed, his whiskey infused breath nearly suffocating him. Barry held his breath when the buff biker leaned over, poking a meaty finger into his chest.

“What? No, I would never. Must have been a misunderstanding. I was talking on the phone, and I think you overheard it. I was talking to my mother. Ha…” Barry glanced away after he said that, trying to look as innocent as possible. The man squinted before turning back in the line.

“YEAH, I SAID MOZART YOU IDIOT. Although if your hearing is that bad, maybe I should call you Beethoven. Or maybe Beat-hoven would be more fitting since I’ll be beating you to a pulp. No symphony alive could bring you any ode to joy after I’m done with you.”

“THAT DOES IT.” The man turned around, his cheeks red and his hairy chest puffed out. The Bikers’ hands squeezing the air as if he was already imagining how he would choke the life out of Barry. “I could have taken being compared to Bach or Stravinsky, but Mozart? That’s just the easy choice that every halfwit knows.”

“Wait, it isn’t me. I swear. It’s my sword. It’s cursed to search for fights. All throughout history, it’s only known battle. This sword being owned by bloodthirsty tyrants. This is the first time it’s seen the world in hundreds of years. It doesn’t understand times have changed. People don’t fight for glory anymore.”

Barry revealed the sword, a beautiful blue tinted blade with a shine that was almost blinding. It held a nostalgic aura to anyone that saw it, as though anyone whose eyes glanced upon it could recall seeing the sword in a history book or museum. Perhaps in a statue of Alexander the great or the grave of an ancient spartan king. The sight caused the biker to pause, admiring the blade.

“Your mom gave me that same look last night.” The sword taunted, studying the insults of this era whenever it had the chance. The words had a different tone to them, but to the biker, it just sounded like Barry was putting on a different voice, doing a strange ventriloquist act. Once again, his rage grew, and Barry found himself face down on the concrete with his forehead bleeding and the world around him spinning.

Thankfully, the man had left after giving Barry a powerful right hook, storming off before any security or police might have showed up. The other people in the line didn’t help Barry, just watching as he picked himself up, snatching a few napkins from a table before walking out.

“What the hell was that about?”

“I was trying to get you a taste for blood. How was it? Feel ready to slaughter his bloodline? I can give you his address.”

“What? No! Why would I want to do that?”

“Because it’s my purpose. I fight and slaughter. I’m the one who made empires crumble and I don’t plan to lose my streak because I’m bonded with a coward. If I could bond with you, that means that someone in your bloodline was a ruthless killer. I’ll draw that part of them out of you.”

“Do you understand how insane that sounds? You can’t draw something out of me. Haven’t you heard of nature vs nurture?”

“What? More insane than a person who's bleeding and talking to a sword?”

Barry paused, noticing the stares he was getting from the surrounding people. He gave a sheepish nod before placing a napkin against his forehead, wincing as the napkin made contact. He whispered his next line, shifting his head closer to his chest, trying to get in earshot of the sword.

“I’m not my great great-great-grandfather or whoever you’re referring to. Humans aren’t like that anymore.”

“Humans aren’t like that anymore? Everyone’s still the same animal they were when they trapped me in the box, only difference is, people put a lot more effort into hiding that side of them now.”

Barry walked home in silence, not responding to the sword’s taunts. Whenever the sword would try to insult a passerby, he would walk a little faster, hoping they didn’t hear. He wished he could just toss the sword into a bush and leave it there, but the sword could never leave his side. As soon as it moved a few meters out of range, it would float to his side again. It was safer to carry it.

When he got home, he tossed the sword onto the floor, taking a seat on the couch. Luckily, the bleeding had slowed, and it didn’t appear the wound would need stitches. He slouched into his position, looking at the sword.

“Why are you like this?”

“I’m a weapon of war and you aren’t using me. What did you expect? Use me for my purpose willingly or I’ll force you to use me.”

Barry sighed. What could he possibly do in this situation? He thought about it before getting an idea. He put the sword in its sheathe and searched the house, finding some old soundproof panels. Barry lined a suitcase with the panels before grabbing the sword, pushing it into the suitcase.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Shutting you up.” Barry said, shoving the sword inside before doing up the suitcase. Sure, the sword would eventually cut itself free, but this was only a temporary measure. It would at least give him enough time to prepare a stronger suitcase, one that he could take with him to prevent any annoying outburst from the weapon. He was certain the sword was cursing him from inside, but for the first time since they met, Barry couldn’t hear him.

     

(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)