To Be a Man

Tradition. What a horrid excuse. The King is just trying to justify his actions, allowing innocent boys to die. And for what? To prove we are men? How are we to prove we are men when we have barely begun to live? I am ranting, but how can I possibly fall asleep in the state I am in. My test is tomorrow, and I know I am going to fail.



“Good morning, William.”

I strolled into the kitchen. The aroma of baking bread floats around the room.

“Morning, mum,” I said, kissing her cheek.

My mother takes a hold of my hand and looks up at me. A sad expression shadowed her features.

She manages a small, pitiful smile, “Happy birthday.”

I sit in the seat opposite of her as the rest of my family files in. My father Harold, and my two younger siblings Brigham and Edith. They are uncommonly quiet. Any other day my brother and sister would fly into the room at a disgraceful speed and tackle me to the ground until I cried uncle, but not today. Edith comes up to me slowly and gives me a small hug, and then Brigham follows suite.

“Happy birthday, Will,” they say solemnly.

Father ushers them to their seats at the table as mother starts putting down bowls of porridge. I stare at the food, picking at it.

“Eat up, William,” father says. “You have a big day today. You have to get your strength up.”

As I spoon the porridge into my mouth, I glance around the table and wonder silently if I will ever see any of them again.



“Friends!” says the King in a booming voice. “I welcome you to today’s festivities!”

“Festivities, ha! What a load of rubbish.” I mumble under my breath.

I stand to the side of the magnanimous coliseum’s wide “stage.” The King stands up high in the Royal Balcony. Hamilton, my best mate, stands next to be and smacks me upside the head. It is his birthday too.

“What do you think you’re doing saying things like that? And here?! Do you want to be sent to the guillotine, Will?” He whispers angrily.

“ Isn't that where I am? Look around, Hamilton. All of these people are here to watch you die.”

He smacks me again, “These people are here to see me become a man. To see us become men.”

I roll my eyes and spot my family in the audience. They seem so far away. I can barely make out Brigham face, and Edith has buried herself in father’s chest.

“We are about to witness the transformation of two boys, Hamilton Coy and William Monterey, into men. As you all well know, when the young boys of our town reach the age of eighteen years they are brought here,” he gestures around the coliseum, “To slay a dragon and earn the right to be called a man.”

“If we survive,” I murmur which earns me another smack from Hamilton.

I glance over at him. He is waving to the crowd with a big grin on his face. He is so naïve as if this was actually some sort of honor, which I suppose it is…if you could slay your dragon. The King forbids any boy under the age of eighteen to train for the test. If you’re caught doing so, you’re sent straight to the guillotine.

After the King wraps up his usual speech, I am led away behind a large wooden door. Hamilton is to fight first. I can see him through the cracks in the wood. A horrible screeching fills the ears of the audience. Hamilton drops to his knees, covering his ears with his thin hands. One of the Kings guardsman hands Hamilton a sword, the only weapon we are allowed. This is also a weapon many of us are unfamiliar using. The guardsman ducks behind the door where I am being kept like a cow waiting to be slaughtered.

“And…begin,” announces the King with delight in his voice.

The door on the opposite side of the arena lifts, revealing Hamilton’s dragon. It is a gruesome thing. It makes its way out of the holding pen. My friend starts running around the area, trying to determine his best strategy. He darts behind it and slashes the sword at the dragon’s side without skill, making a shallow cut. The beast makes a sound of annoyance and whips his thorn covered tail toward Hamilton. There is a sickening crunch as it makes impact with his body.

“Hamilton!” I scream. The guardsman clamps his hand over my mouth.

“Quiet kid! You’ll attract it over here. Keep your mouth shut!”

My breath quickens. Hamilton lies just feet from me; puncture wounds run all along his body, and blood oozes from every one. The beast struts toward him. He is a goner. I knew this already. The dragon picks my mate up with his teeth and has himself a nice lunch. I fall to my knees and press my palms against my eyes. Anger rises up my body, and I feel hot to the touch. I am seething. I can hear Mrs. Coy shrieking as she bawls over the death of her son. Will this be my fate as well? Will this be my mother in a matter of minutes?

“Oh, what bad luck!” The King bellows from his throne. “Looks like our poor Mr. Coy becoming a man was simply not in the stars.”

His voice holds a mock sadness. He has no sorrow over the death.

“Let us hope our next birthday boy has a better destiny before him! William, come on out, son!”

The guardsman hands me the same sword Hamilton had used minutes before with genuine sympathy in his eyes. He gives me a slight shove out the door and into the coliseum. I have a better view of the monster now. Its beige scales shine in the sunlight. Thorns are scattered all over the body, not just the tail. It has gargantuan wings coming out of its back. Its teeth are many and extremely deadly.

Avoid the teeth, I think to myself.

The dragon spots me quickly and flies toward me in one swift movement. I dodge it, but just barely, feeling a spike scrape across my back. The wound stings and my eyes grow foggy. The beast runs toward me, and I toward it. I fling the sword toward its abdomen where it embeds itself. The dragon cries out in pain, swinging his tail toward me just as it had with Hamilton. Ducking out of way, I gain a few seconds to grab my sword. I run toward the wall, my back burning as if I were lying on hot coals. Just as the dragon catches up with me, I fall to the ground with purpose, letting the beast stand over me. The audience gasps with horror, expecting the worst. Knowing this is my moment, I thrust the blade straight up, estimating where the heart is. I feel its body tense, and I know I have hit my mark. I may not have been able to train physically, but I was able to do some extensive reading on the anatomy of the creatures. With a sneer on my face, I twist the sword wrathfully. This is for you, Hamilton.



“Ladies and gentleman! Friends, may I present to you Sir William Monterey! Please give him a round of applause and congratulate him on a job well done with his dragon! Oh, and of course, wish him a very happy birthday!”

The King takes a hold of my hand and raises it above our heads in victory as if I had just done the town a great service. I despise the King. I want nothing more than to treat him the same way I had treated the dragon. They had presented me a thorn from the beast to keep as a reminder of my accomplishment. Accomplishment is not the word I would use. I can see Brigham in the front row, a wide grin on his face. Brigham has seventeen years to his name and his birthday occurs in less than a year. While we all may be celebrating my victory today, we would not be for long. Brigham will not meet my fate. He will meet Hamilton’s. All of this just to prove he is a man.