The third battalion of attack gliders came over the ridge, red suns blazing on their foreheads. The General stood back and watched them fly in and pile over the incoming hoards, pushing the line back. The plan was coming into place, his sword was at his side, and the ZX-437 plasma rifle was freshly charged. The slavery to the decadent western masses would be freed. It all came down to this battle.
General Ulysses Kazuhiro unsheathed his wazakashi and held it above his head; his voice echoed generations from long past and the whole battleground stopped as the battle cry struck them. There was something more than determination, it was as if thunder itself had become his voice.
He stepped forward, and spoke only five words.
“Dude, he’s been up there for five minutes, with his eyes closed and he’s talking to his bowling ball. Did he drop some LSD before starting?
“No idea. All I care is that he is going to make this seven-ten split.”
“If he does, it will be the championship, and it’s free rounds for us tonight.”
“Did Ed just say ‘the east shall rise again’? Dude! What the hell?”
<img style="border-width: 0;" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/2.5/ca/88×31.png" alt="Creative Commons License" »
The East Shall Rise Again by Pearce Kilgour is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 Canada License.
Based on a work at pearcekilgour.wordpress.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at https://pearcekilgour.wordpress.com. But you should really ask him first… send someone to rub his neck, feed him a gin and tonic, that would be the best… in fact he thinks the world would be a better place if everyone got neckrubs.