Knife Kicking

We are in a field.
There is a village near by…
A crowd of around twenty men are gathered around me.
They are dressed in work trousers and white shirts.
The scene is rural.
They crowd speak a foreign tongue.
I think it is Eastern European?
The atmosphere is tense.
They are talking about me,
Whispering, avoiding eye contact.
They are confident.
I am a stranger…

A large, older man approaches me.
He has a thick, white moustache.
He holds out a small sword.
It is curved and thin, with an ornate silver handle.
He extends his arms offering me the sword.
From behind him a younger man approaches.
Somehow I know that he is my challenger…

The older man throws the sword into the air.
We see it spin as we scatter to avoid its razor sharp edge
As it spins to the ground.
The younger man approaches the blade,
He is barefooted, as am I.
I feel the long damp grass beneath my feet.
The young man carefully hooks his toes beneath the blade that lies upon the grass.
He expertly flings the blade into the air,
It spins in a silvery ark above us as the crowd moves again.
It lands twenty, or so yards away.
I know that it’s my turn.
It is my turn to kick the blade into the air…

I approach the blade,
All is quiet.
I carefully place my toes beneath the sword, confident of my success.
I kick it into the air.
It spins above us…

I am aware of a searing pain in my foot.
I fall to the ground.
The crowd cheers!

My foot is bleeding, badly.
I hold up my foot to inspect the damage.
I am cut just above my toes.
I can see right through the gash in my foot.
I am terrified.
I call out for help.
There is a flash of blue.
I awake.