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Ode to the Forum
There are two worlds. One leaves us with a dull, empty void. It is filled with mundane tasks. Where we are all compartmentalized as old and young, rich and poor. We are judged, labeled, branded into groups and defined by what the world says we are. We are separated by races, by education, by nationality, by what we look like and by what we do.
Some of us are lawyers, some are outlaws. Some of us are teachers, some are students. Some of us are entrepreneurs, some are wage-slaves. Some of us are straight, some of us are gay. Some of us are lean, some of us are stocky. Some of us are scrawny, some of us are flabby. Some of live in mansions, some of us live in shacks.
Then, we enter This World, The Arena. A world where belly flab instantly sinks down and is replaced by firm six-pack abs, obliques pop out, our lower area is framed with a strong adonis belt. Our pecs bulge into giant masses of muscle. Our veins ripple beneath out tightening skin. We gain/lose facial, chest or belly hair. The hair on our heads becomes longer or shorter, lighter or darker. Tattoos and scars appear or disappear. Our ages vanish. Occupations and cares dissipate.
We are transformed in mere seconds into perfection. We are now all equals. We are strong, powerful, confident (sometimes even arrogant). We now wield total control and dominion over our own destiny.
We are warriors, gladiators, rebels, assassins, soldier, even gods. The Arena now becomes Our World.
We fight, we battle. Sometimes man-to-man, sometimes man vs beast.
We cut down legions of opponents both young men and older men with clean swipes and powerful thrusts of our blades. Reluctant, young, unskilled warriors shriek out in fear and pain as our blades pierce their navels and they curl around our swords. Arrogant, strong business men are hewn down with a single blast from our guns. Mighty, powerful men come at us with strength and skill, but end up with wide, stunned eyes, open jaws and guttoral moans as we ram our swords to the hilt deep into their chiseled abs. They clutch, cling and grab onto us as if begging for comfort from the death-blow. Sometimes, we hold their manly forms in our protective embrace until they die, other times, we mercilessly yank our our blade and watch them fall to their knees, sputter our a couple lasts breaths and collapse and a heap of muscle and blood. We begin to breath heavy, becoming weary from the battle.
As the battle ensues, we face even more opponents. Our bulging biceps get torn by blades and axes. Our massive pecs get riddled with bullets and arrows. Massive swords are rammed into our chiseled abs. We yell out in pain, cry out in anguish when opponents' blades are thrust completely through our bodies. We feel the cold steel as it run us through. We feel our guts burn. Our breath becomes heavier and ragged.
We witness the beauty and strength of the one slaying us. We feel his warm hand contrasted aside the cold metal hilt of the sword he is gripping, pressed firmly against our abs as he twists the blade in our guts. We feel the heat of his smooth, muscular flesh pressing against ours. We feel, smell and taste his heavy breath flowing across our chests, necks and mouth.
Our blood pours out from our wounds onto the battle floor. We are stunned by an opponents single ram of the blade into our heart, knowing our death-blow has been dealt. Our breathing hardens as we try to hold in our breath.
Arrows pierce us as we shriek out in agony. Our perfect bodies are thrust side-to side, twisting and turning as bullets riddle our chests. We gasp for breath as blood fills our lungs.
In defeat, we fall to our knees, our hands clutching at the wounds in our perfect forms. Our brows furl and our toes curl as we moan out a final gasp of breath. The thrill engulfs us, surrounds us, and overtakes us. Anger, fear, love, hatred, depression, anxiety, pain and comfort all mingle into one final rush of emotion and ecstasy.
We collapse back into our chairs, onto our beds and back into the old world. Our former, usual forms still breathing heavily from the world we just left and the rapture we just felt. We regain ourselves and try to catch one last glimpse into The Arena.
Sometimes our opponent raises our severed head in victory over us and our perfect forms lay on the ground in a wasted heap. It's over, for now.
No matter........... For tomorrow, we will return.
B&D
Here's to another Happy Battle and Glorious Death.
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