A man can avoid his fate, if he heeds the warning signs. 100 word ficlet.

His blood surges in his ears, his guts still spasming with the terror of certain death as the small figure moves silently away from him and out the open shoji.

Chikusho—I thought my number was on that one!

In the mess hall's chill morning air, faint clouds of mist rise to join the steam from bowls of miso as caught breath is released, the deadly shink of the nearly-unsheathed blade still ringing. Only the new girl seems steady, calmly continuing to serve breakfast.

He is touchy these days—like a too-ready flint. Better make sure I'm not the kindling…