Zach's Topic: You are to write a fight scene.
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So I deviated a bit, but hey, that is what came out.
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“Write His Future”
Marcus was new to the Festival. The army had knocked on his family’s door just six months ago, so this was the first time he had been on break. He didn't know what to expect from the event, but he could feel the energy of the crowd. It was boiling over inside his mind and body. His words came out too quickly, his hand jittered, and he joined in the crowd’s anticipatory chanting even though he did not really grasp the lust the crowd craved.
“Are you having fun, little one?” Gravel, Marcus’s master, asked as he yelled above the crowd and bumped into others crammed into the small, makeshift “arena.” The arena had a dirt floor and not much else beyond hastily constructed benches and low walls. Benches were probably unnecessary in that the hundreds of soldiers who made up the crowd would stand in anticipation of the horse’s bleeding that would signal the Festival’s beginning.
“Yes,
“You’ll have to little one! There’s reason no on tells you,” Gravel’s comment was cut off by the explosion in crowd noise as the general brought out his own warhorse. The general clenched his fist and crowd quickly quieted down. The horse remained absolutely calm as the general held its reins with one hand.
“This steed marks our beginning! May it reward our past and write our future!” The crowd cheered as the general pulled his sword and slit the horse’s neck. As the animal’s blood formed into a pool around his feet, the general did nothing but smile.
The general walked away from the center and two groups of armed soldiers forced two beleaguered looking men into the arena. One looked disgustingly obese in that his body seemed horribly disproportionate. His bulging stomach was not matched by equally fat legs or arms. Certainly, those body parts were larger; but not as large as they should have been. The other man looked thin, but not frail. However, his skin hung so loosely and sagged from all over his body that one could body wrap the excess skin around him once or twice more. Droopy described the man’s appearance in more ways than one. As they were shoved to the center by armed guards, a spear and sword were tossed on each side of dead horse.
Gravel’s eyes caught the perplexed look on Marcus’s face and Gravel laughed.
“Little one, you look confused! We fattened the skinny one and starved the fat one! The fatty is called Bacon and the skinny is called Droopy!” Gravel yelled as each contestant grabbed the weapon closest to him; the fat man grabbed the sword while the skinny one clutched the spear.
“Do they do this to our captured men?” Marcus asked Gravel as his voice cracked.
“Worse, little one. Much worse,” Gravel said quietly with a touch of knowing sadness. Marcus tried to think of something worse, but his mind lacked the imagination. Of the horrors he has seen so far, for some reason, he knew this would become the worst thing that plagued his already stormy dreams.
Marcus watched as the prisoners Bacon and Droopy awkwardly circled the horse’s body. As they both moved laterally away from the horse, Droopy’s loose skin caused him to lose his balance and fall to the ground. He was only saved by fact that Bacon’s massive weight kept him from changing direction quickly. By the time, Bacon reached his fallen foe, Droopy was back on his feet. Droopy began to jab at Bacon from a distance with his spear. After a close miss by Droopy, Bacon swung hard with his sword and caught a flap of Droopy’s skin hanging from his arm. But again, Bacon couldn’t move him arm quickly enough for a follow up and Droopy stabbed his former friend in his left eye socket. Bacon fell to the ground screaming and clutching his face as the blood mixed with the dirt and horse’s fluids. Instead of finishing the combat, Droopy dropped his sword and remained standing.
The crowd yelled and pleaded for an killing, but Droopy did not move. Finally, the guards reemerged and began to yell. Marcus could not read their lips or hear their words above the crowd noise, but after a moment he understood. Additional guards pulled a few of Droopy and Bacon’s fellow prisoners into the arena by leashes connected at the neck and put blades to the men’s throats. Marcus could tell that Droopy was crying and that the guards continued to yell. Finally, Droopy picked his sword up and walked towards Bacon. Just as Droopy raised his sword far above his head, a guard rushed over and knocked away the sword. The guard then gave Droopy a small dagger and laughed as pointed at the bruised and bloodied Bacon. Droopy mounted Bacon and began to plunge the knife into Bacon’s body without rhyme or reason as to location.
Marcus had to avert his gaze. Bacon would not die and Droopy would not stop. Bacon had already been covered in blood, but now Droopy arms and face were now covered as well. Where once there was horse’s blood and dirt, there was now human flesh and blood muddled together with the beast and the earth. As Droopy continued to plunge the short blade into his comrade, Marcus winced.
Droopy’s wail reached Marcus in a part of his soul that he thought was long dead. As the prisoner walked away from his dead friend, Marcus could feel tears welling up inside him. Killing on the field felt horrible, but nothing like this spectacle. Droopy’s scream seemed like the worse sound in the universe until Marcus heard the next noise: the roar of the crowd. Instead of feeling horrified by the site of the dying gladiator or the cries of friend, Marcus realized that he was stuck with people who were enamored at this awful site. How could men he called his friends enjoy this? He looked over to Gravel and saw a face so satisfied that Marcus’s blood went cold. If this is what he had to look forward to in the event of surrender or failure, he would take his own life before being captured.
“Ha! If they fought this hard in the beginning, the fuckers wouldn’t be stuck here now!” Gravel yelled to the horrified Marcus.
“Here come the next ones! Trunk and Stump!” Graveled yelled as the guards ushered in two new contestants. Stump, the first one, was missing both his hands; the second, Trunk, could not even stand. Marcus knew why when he saw that the man lacked both feet; his legs both stopped at the ankle. The cuts were new enough that a little bit of blood still leaked through the makeshift bandages that covered the ankle stumps.
Marcus stared at both men as they prayed on opposite sides of the messy pile of the horse and Bacon. The weaponless Stump hopped over Bacon’s body with ease and ran quickly towards the stranded Trunk. But Trunk, wielding a short sword, swung wildly at Stump’s feet while lying on his belly. Stump awkwardly lost his balance, fell to the ground and rolled away as Trunk failed to reach him with unfocused swinging of his sword. Taking his breath, Stump began to slowly circle the immobile Trunk and Trunk attempted to rotate his body to remain facing his enemy. Periodically, Stump would lunge only to fall back moments later as Trunk swung his sword inches above the ground.
“If we wanted a pussy we’d have cut your dick off!” Gravel yelled into Marcus’s ear. Mirroring Gravel’s feelings, the crowd began to boo. Marcus felt the crowd’s boredom turn to anxiousness and then he realized that he was feeling the same thing…
During the crowd’s booing, Stump stutter-stepped at Trunk, Trunk swung wildly again from right to left, and Stump burst past Trunk’s motion by lunging behind the sword’s arc. Before the crowd could recognize what had happened, Stump kicked Trunk in the face and began to stomp on the torso of his footless foe. With the first kick, Trunk was dazed; the additional boots only served as the killing strokes. First, Trunk’s torso turned pink. Before long, the torso turned a feverish red. Marcus could not help but stare when Trunk’s ribs started to bulge ever so slightly. Finally, the crowd roared when Trunk’s ribs burst from his body as though they were a baby bird poking its head through a hatching egg.
“Now that is what we kill for!” Gravel yelled. “I’m glad you made it far enough to see it!” Gravel yelled as he slapped Marcus’s back
Again, Marcus cringed at the thought that the fans of this monstrosity were his friends and masters. Marcus felt even worse than before when he felt how happy he was that Gravel wanted him here. He realized that even though he was disgusted, he still wanted to be one of them. Marcus smiled as best he could and slapped his chest in a sign of honor to his master.
“It’s time. You need to come with me, little one,” Gravel yelled at Marcus and they started to make their way away from the crowd. Marcus could see other masters and students walking away from the Festival. Before long, they approached the pens. This was the first time Marcus had seen where the prisoners were kept. If the enemy treated his side worse, Marcus couldn’t grasp the concept. He could hear chorus of tears and outrage, planning and despair. As though being surrounded by a fence of wooden walls and jagged spears wasn’t enough to pacify the prisoners, a giant column surrounded by a pile of limbs and organs stood at the center of the pen. Marcus understood the purpose fo the column he saw the long leases connected to the column and prisoners’ necks. Some men walked around the pen while others sat. The few women there seemed to stay near the children. The children, despite their frailty, seemed relatively unscathed when compared to the adults.
He was relieved that he wouldn’t actually need to enter the pen; the guards were bringing pairs of prisoners out to Marcus, Gravel, and the rest of the men.
“It is time for you become one of us. Write his future,” Gravel said as kicked the back of a male prisoner kneeling in front Marcus and the guards. Marcus looked at the prisoner and knew that both their lives were about to change. Marcus was still thinking as other students issued orders for how to main the prisoners kneeling before them.
“Write his future!” Gravel yelled as he stomped his foot and stared eye-to-eye with Marcus. Marcus looked back to Gravel, back towards the pen, and back at the kneeling prisoner before him. Gravel pacing and grumbling became louder.
“Master, why not use the children?” Marcus asked his master as he pointed back towards the pens. The guards looked at each other, at Marcus, and then back to Gravel.
“I told you all. A natural this boy here is,” Gravel said with an approving smile.
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