People engage in sparring on multiple levels. Weaponry of all sorts have been used in combatic events between one human and another. Interaction between two swords — thrusting, parrying, riposting — can take on the beauty of an artform. Guns bring their own type of brute elegance. Hand to hand combat tests persons to the limit, using only what they have with them. When fighting, training can win or lose a battle.

There’s also the sparring of the mind. Friendly rivals can exchange witty insults, in a contest of one-ups-manship, with no real results. Rivals in intellect can test each other’s limits of intelligence and problem solving. Hard-fought debates can take place, with no clear winner.

But there’s one particular contest that intrigues the most, my inner evil mind. It’s a contest meant to wound as much as one can, to the point of torture, even. It’s actually easy to kill with a sword, but type of swordplay has less moves that can be successful. You see, it’s a matter of saying exactly the right thing at exactly the right time. The intervals are small, and the words are few, out of many, but when done correctly, it oh so deliciously wounds. The proper words can strike a person right through the soul, wounding them to the very core of their being. It will make them question themself, question you. And in the end, with the correctly applied finishing maneuver, they know you’ll have won, for they feel both sadness and anger like they have never felt before. Yet no matter what they try to do, the wounds still sting. This type of swordplay isn’t temporary, unlike any spar. Even the condition of dying is temporary, for soon thereafter comes death. No, this is like poison. Poison for the soul, poison on the barb you used to wound them. This poison lingers, making them feel the effects forever. The barb is what makes you the winner, but the poison is what keeps you the winner. That is the kind of swordplay that most intrigues me. The kind that takes a lot to execute, yet when done, wounds the most of any kind.

Any of ya out there who understand what I’m talking about? Me either. Good night.