Same Diff
written by: James Hancock
Commander Andreas walked down the line, stopping before every fifth soldier. “Where are you from, son?” The same question uttered in the gravelly tone of a hardened veteran.
“The enormous refrigerator, my lord.” The same answer every time.
Commander Andreas nodded to each and gave an understanding look of respect. As he stepped back to address his men, Centurion Pilius wrapped the flat of his gladius on the rim of his shield, and the men followed suit. Commander Andreas held up a hand, and the thunderous drumming died.
“Men of the top shelf, you know why we are here today. The greenskins have gone too far, and we shall not stand for it! When the great man of the house was asked by the great woman, ‘lemon or lime’? You know his response. You all heard it, as did I. His reply of ‘don’t matter… same diff’ has been rubbed in our faces like salt after tequila shots ever since, and we shall stand for it no longer. We all know who she mentioned first when the question was asked. And with good reason. We have proven our superiority over the limes for an age. In brightness of colour, prominent nipple-ness atop our heads, and now we shall show our superiority on the field of battle!”
The drumming of swords on shields rang out.
“Tonight we slice and quarter!” Commander Andreas yelled, drawing his sword and pointing it across the kitchen. “Charge!”
The yellow army stormed ahead, swords held high, ready to hack and slash, as the block formation of green warriors turned the corner past the pedal bin and let fly a shower of steel-tipped pilums. Javelins rained down upon the lemons, penetrating shields and puncturing breastplates. Many fell, but those remaining continued forth, watching their commander slam into the enemy line with a ferocious battle cry so bloodthirsty it would turn a cabbage brown.
“Same diff this, you bastard!” Commander Andreas screamed, slicing and stabbing at the young lime before him. His men followed suit, and despite the limes having greater numbers, the lemons hurled into an uncontrollable berserk of rage. Pips flew, juice spilled, and the kitchen floor was soon a cocktail of bitter corpses.
“Retreat!” sang from the limes’ ranks, and they turned and fled.
“Victory is ours!” cried Centurion Pilius, and the lemons cheered.
Commander Andreas cleaned the sticky skin from his blade and looked at the bodies surrounding him. Slaughtered lemons and butchered limes. He dropped his head before the carnage as High Priestess Olivetti and the healing sisters took to the field.
“So many brave lemons have fallen before their time.” Commander Andreas sheathed his sword as Olivetti placed a hand on his shoulder.
“We will do what we can for the wounded,” Olivetti reassured. “The sisters will pour healing tonic, and many will live.”
“All this death, simply because our skins are a slightly different colour.” Tears welled in Commander Andreas’ eyes. “Was it all worth it? Are we so different, really?”
