1 Name: reilyx !.18ItdoukM : 2012-04-02 22:09 ID:ccLeHfGx [Del]
I'm just gunna use this thread as a catch-all for my writing. I do mostly short stories and role-play, but I'm thinking about trying my hand at poetry.
What this thread will not feature is a novella I'm working on, "Dancing with Angels." If you have interest in reading it, let me know and I'll consider letting you in to see what I have finished thus far. (At the time of this writing, 2,000 words are finished, about 1/3 has been edited and converted to google docs for sharing).
And I suppose I'll begin posting my crap in the next post.
2 Name: reilyx !.18ItdoukM : 2012-04-02 22:10 ID:ccLeHfGx [Del]
Meat Grinder
Sand sprays violently around the arena; two warriors fight in a whirlwind of crimson grit. The Wall chose them to fight, and so they will fight. Until the death, so says the world. Sparks fly from the steel of their blades as they clash in a fury of calculated maneuvers - The warrior on the defense leans back to narrowly avoid the sharp tooth of the aggressor’s sword. My stomach curls in on itself as I watch the man lose his balance; the attacker seizing the opportunity to pull back sharply, swiftly plunging the steel into the flesh of a doomed man.
The curvature of my knee just barely blocks the river of blood from my view; a trickle of sweat runs down the length of my leg. Humid air penetrates my eyes with cold fingers, my eyelids refusing to close as the body of a warrior collapses in a heap of reddening sand. I can feel the air move about as my eyes shift to the victor: his hands raised triumphantly, his sword dripping the blood of a foe unto his perspirating chest, his audience cheering with an unrivaled vigor as their champion takes down yet another foolish contender.
My heart stops beating for a split second as the man to my right performs his lunge - a ritual entry to battles brought to a warrior by The Wall. His lungs heaved a battlecry so fierce he could lead an army of a thousand men. His legs tensed under the pressure of the swift, hard beats of his heart. His elbow launched back with inhuman strength, his body launching off The Wall, bill pointed towards the heart of the previous victor. The next round of the meat grinder has begun.
My own heart races for the newcomer, flashbacks of my last match finding their way into my vision. To my left are six more men; the last contained only three. The sound of metal clashing against metal rings throughout the air, my eyes focus once more on the scene before me. A sidestep, then a swing at the shoulder. A sword intercepts, the flat of the blade parrying the bite of a vicious blow. The defender swings the flat of the blade around in a swift counterattack, the crunch of a successful blow loud enough to send the audience into an eruption of sickening bloodlust. A warrior spins around in agony, trying desperately to bring his sword in front of the path of a deadly blow. Unsuccessful. The razor-sharp edge of the deadly blade cleaves clean through the gut of the disoriented combatant, the blood spewing against the faces of all those still against The Wall, myself included.
~ ~ ~
The air is suddenly cold as ice. The blood in my veins has stopped pumping. I can no longer hear the cheers of the crowd as another brave soul departs for river styx. I can feel a numbness emerging from my core, relaxing my body for one brief, final moment. Seven. I only have to kill Seven. My lungs began to release a bellow that would deafen the poltergeists of the catacombs. My legs curl beneath my torso. My muscles scream for blood. My arm slams again into The Wall. Into the meatgrinder I go.
