BBC Summer Shorts short story Competition Brief: Write a short story of about 500 words,
beginning with the words, “It was a very rainy day”. The following entry won the Under 16 age
group category.
A World For a Rainy Day
It was a very rainy day when two kings faced each other across the battlefield’s murky
expanse. They would resolve their differences in the one way they knew: war. Heaven’s artillery
opened fire with a formidable barrage, as if in mockery of man’s feeble attempts far below.
Thunder rolled across the churned up battlefield and lightning lanced downwards, daring
anything to stand in its path.
Beneath this display of raw power, the game was almost up for the forces of good. Battle had
raged for several hours now, and icy rain sapped men’s strength. Their king gazed down on the
scene from a nearby hilltop. Far away, in a similar position, was his counterpart, even now
brooding on the manner of the fair king’s death. His knights, resplendent in their white clothing
and shining armour, were hopelessly outnumbered. They were unmarred by rust and mysteriously
clean in this scene of destruction – indeed, some might say that they were too perfect. The beasts
– for that was what they were – advanced in a great dark mass, waving their crude weapons in the
air. Their bloodlust alone drew them on, and they marched to the steady rhythm of drums, each
beat taking them inexorably closer to their prey.
“This is wrong!” Merik, the youthful commander of the knights had to shout to be heard
over the hammering rain. “Noble men – honourable knights like ourselves – should not die
through mindless slaughter!” There was murmured assent from his men, mingled with pity, as
many of them were years older than him. Their king had not failed them yet. He had just one
more card to play. It was a race against time.
In the distance his swordsmen, on the brink of capturing the enemy king, were fighting a lost
battle. Unless help could reach them soon to tip the balance in their favour, Merik reasoned, their
valour would be wasted.
His knights formed a rough line. As he looked at each one of them he saw their anger, but
also an uncrushable wisp of determination smouldering inside them, needing only to be rekindled.
At his signal they broke into a trot. To his left the beasts had just been engaged by the king’s
bodyguard. The path to his destination was clear for the moment. Seizing the opportunity, Merik’s
world contracted into the strip of land separating him from his goal. They sped up to a canter and
then covered the last few metres at a gallop. With their lances lowered, all of the mighty force of
the charge would be concentrated into that vicious point. The wind howled about them and the
horses snorted, tails streaming in the wind. This is what they were bred for and they relished their
moment.
Man horse and armour crashed into the enemy. The immense weight alone drove them
forward like one mighty battering ram. The enemy flank shuddered. It wavered for a moment, as
if deciding whether or not it could hold, then broke. Men tried to flee but were trapped, as they
were already fighting swordsmen to their front and were pressed in by their own friends on either
side. A violent panic ensued as they were cut down, but most were allowed to flee. For the true
prize of battle, their king himself, was just behind and waiting to be claimed.
Somewhere, far away, a small boy laughed. The skies seemed to lighten and the sun, ever
struggling to be seen through the dark clouds enveloping it, finally broke through, sending a
bright shaft of light down into the chaos beneath.
Merik rallied his men about him with a short blast of his horn. Together they swept past the
fleeing men to the King’s tent. Victory was theirs.
“Check mate,” the small boy said, looking across the chessboard at his friend. Rain pounded
on the window. He threw his head back in a neigh of laughter, and looking up at the plain, boring
white ceiling, cast his mind back to the exciting world he had created for this very rainy day.
