The Guinea Pigs are teaching the Swordsmen to fly

“Come on, up, up! Concentrate!” The small brown guinea pig heaved a sigh and turned his back on his swordsman. He rubbed his furry temples and looked around the large meadow. The hills we covered in levitating swordsmen. They were six weeks into their training and the guinea pigs had expected more. Teaching swordsmen to fly was proving to be more difficult than they had expected. Feeling weary he dropped forward so that he was standing on all fours and took some large sips from his water bottle and sighed again. Then he turned back to his swordsman to continue the drills.
    “Okay Steve let’s try this again.” Steve shuffled his metal-clad feet nervously. He had never wanted to fly in the first place and now he was discovering that his fears were not unfounded; flying was hard and so were guinea pigs. His guinea pig, Rachmaninov was proving to be a harsh taskmaster.
    “Take off your helmet, leave your sword and take off your boots.” Rachmaninov stood up onto his hind legs and relaxed back to sit on his haunches. As Steve did as he was told, Rachmaninov dipped his head to scratch behind his left ear.
    “Ok Steve let’s try this again, this time I expect you to be able to hold yourself in the air for a couple of moments before tipping forwards onto your stomach and gliding forward a few feet towards me, okay? Ready yourself please.”
    Steve obligingly ran through the checks he had been taught to do before he flew. He made sure that no-one was behind him or within touching distance then he took a few deep breaths. He raised his arms into the air and slowly transferred his weight to one leg lifting the other from the ground, He stood like this for a while gently breathing fully into his lungs. His brain felt light with the extra intake of oxygen than was usual. He allowed all of the other guinea pigs to fade away. He was aware only of his brain and Rachmaninov. His body seemed to fall away from him, he was only a thing floating there. After standing in this manner for a few minutes he heard Rachmaninov’s signal travel through the haze with which he had surrounded himself. Lowering his leg he kicked off from the ground and directed all of his strength into his muscles to keep him up from the floor. It was hard work but he knew that his fitness was improving. His breathing now became less rhythmic and more laboured. His face felt warm and beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. Slowly he hinged forward through the air until he was lying horizontally. Tensing his stomach and back muscles, he raised himself up more until he was at least five metres from the ground. Then he took some deeper breaths, struggling to keep control and pulled himself forward through the air. His arms were outstretched to help him keep his balance and he could feel his muscles begin to shiver. His whole body was wobbling but he refused to allow his brain to acknowledge it and lose his focus. His heart was beating quickly now and sweat dripped from his red face. With a loud gasp he collapsed from the air and felt his front slam into the ground. Relief flooded his aching muscles and his throat burned. He stayed where he had landed on the grass panting, trying to regain control of his lungs. Just three inches away from his head stood Rachmaninov looking quite pleased. His small hands were clasped behind his back and he clucked and purred happily.
    “Maybe there’s hope for you yet” He said and came forward onto all fours. Reaching out he patted Steve on the head with a small pink hand.

Michelle Gray