Saturday, July 21, 2007


Its noon, the sun blasts a dry harsh heat beating down on the clay of the stadium, tattered blue flags wave in the wind above. The sweat of the gladiator shines of his tanned skin, and blinds a crow above. The crowd roars.

Everyone's on their feet screaming, one girl sits she holds a doll a pacifist in a world of death, tears roll down her cheek leaving a clean stain on her dusty skin, the gleeful screams of her family pierce her ears.

People scream for blood, the underdog, sweating bare chested, a pair of short shorts show off his large muscular and tight ridged behind, his chest hair slick with sweet, scars on his back, his blond hair flies in the air his eyes distant, lost in another world, motionless black.

Two figures emerge from the darkness, pink and purple plastic suits, their hammers massive and the signs of use, the blood and bits of flesh from the last victim. From behind and hammer strikes from behind, down, this is over, the bright green ninja made it so. Hammers fall of soft flaccid organs, and sensitive orbs of tender flesh. The crowd loves a painful death, blood soaking into the floorm the screams of pain lost in the lust of blood. Then next hammer is the finisher, the grand finale.

Lights out.

The hill

The rolling hills, a sea of green stretch into a the distance fading away in a far away fog the clouds the rest of the world, casting a ring of shelter around this luscious valley. A vast expanse of green grass covers the world here alone on hill stands a tree. The dark brown bark scarred through time, the wood half dead and lifeless, the leaves a pure source of natures life, reaching up to the sacred yellow orb, drinking up its subatomic life.

The tree silently sways, as it always does in the tides of time, caught in the current of the wind of the world. The tree moves and its shadow plays across the earth, moving, changing. The darkness comes, a shadow plays upon the land, the violent winds bringing the shade to the soil that surrounds the tree, cooling it from the hot sun, the light vanishing.

The prevailing winds are not constant, ever changing, a mix of infinite complexity, bringing forth change, shade and light on the land, it will forever alternate.

The tree moves a little leaning elsewhere, the darkness fades, the light comes about, breathing life, the dark soil, now populated by the tiniest of plants, green fresh life springing from the moist earth, leaping towards the sky.

Two children arrive beneath the free, a young boy and girl, they look over the land and drinks its beauty, soaking it up through their eyes. The tree moves in the wind, the shadow cast upon the boy, he pulls a lifeless limb from the tree, a sword. Next to the epic trunk, a solid mass of wood, grown over time innumerable, sits the girl in the light, in awe of the life growing at her feet.

The boy lunges, and swings, his stick a sword, a weapon for imagined foes, thrusting and stabbing, they fall and are replaced by more, who fall, and fall, a succession of death, the air pierced by the wooden limb. The light and boy dance, one second he's caught in the light, a bright knight in shining amour, protecting and severing. The moment changes with the winds, the light gone from the boys face, darkness covers his eyes, as he murders, kills and destroys, the limb an extension of his body, a magnifier to his power.

The darkness swings onto the little girl, a shiny blade lost in the darkness emerges from her dress, cloaked in darkness she carves a heart in the fragile tree, forever the icon shall be written in the free, the heart becomes a part of the bark, growing with the tree. As the wood is carved from the wooden flesh a single tear rolls down the girls cheek, its precious water giving life, green growing in the darkness. The light covers her face as she smiles at her iconographic work, and the life that is flourishing, now caught in the sun.

"I can't do this anymore," the boy cries, screaming into the hills. He sits on the soft earth and watches it grow, tired, the sweat drips from his brow, the life in the ground soaks up his sweet liquid, living, growing.

Darkness, and light dance a battle over the still children, in awe of nature, the sit silently. The light vies to be seen, the darkness pushing its boundaries, trying to cover everything and overcome. The light and shadows dance, like a candle in absolute darkness, flicking in the wind, an epic struggle as the wick burns towards the end, burning bright the light casts the darkest shadows, without the candle absolute darkness would reign.

The rich crimson blood soaks into the earth, the life flourishes as another expires, its very essence flowing out of the girl, from her stomach where the small blade is lodged. Around her a pool of blood flows, in it the green nature, thriving in the light. She vomits blood as she expires, collapsing into the soft green beside the boy, who is sharing the same fate, their blood mixing, their lives flowing away, giving life to new growth, new life, a trade. They lie beneath the heart, holding hands, the sun setting as their eyes close.