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| Release. | Started by: JennaBambino on Jun 04, '09 11:34 |
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It was a Saturday night. Lights were up in the sky as high as the skyscrapers you could see were. Drizzling it was, but that did not stop the night life of all the young, rich and famous, and also the infamous. From the parking lot of a bar owned by an italian old timer, you hear men cringing, fists making sheer contact with flesh and bone, the cold rain dampening the sweaty skin of men pugilizing in the dimly lit alley. You walk into the back and approach the crowd that you have just discovered to be the source of all the noise and commotion. You splice through the crowd and see that what you first thought of was correct, there was a fight. Fists flying, bodies wracking, and men wimpering in pain, the two bludgeoned each other 'til the other was left without memory of why he was there. Only two men were in the center, with a cardboard box, unfolded, piled down underneath them, with blood smeared all over it, with a man on his back laying flat upon it, the other man mounting him, bashing his face in with a devious smile on his face. The other cries, and spits out blood, and taps the other's hands. Almost instantly after hesitating to punch the other in the face for one more time, the man on top gets off and pulls the man he beat previously off the ground, blood trickling off their faces, they hug, and smile and shake hands then they both walk separate ways, as they both disappear into the crowd, roaring and laughing in glee. With what has just transpired, you wonder, as to what has just happened, amongst the men with beers and cigarettes in hand. Did these men have a misunderstanding? Why are they smiling? Did the fight end just like that? With a single and gentle tap? As your thoughts rush through you, you hear a voice, a voice that grew in volume, as it came across you. A woman in black leather, satin, and silk garbs, stilletos, sporting purple dyed hair with a headband on, covered by an umbrella walks through the crowd, speaking as she passes, the men in the crowd then give way as though in fear, wait, you see that it is in respect that they let her pass. She then speaks, as she makes it to the center of the circle, standing on the blood smeared cardboard stage. Dear, thank you for that wonderful release. Now who would want to be next? With every word she said, the crowd's noise grew softer and softer, as she eyed out each and every one in it. With her last word "Next" she lays eyes on you. She smiles and gestures her hand as though she is welcoming you to enter the cardboard stage to take part in the barbaric tradition of fist fighting. What do you do? You think. You think some more. You look around, not knowing what who you are to face if ever you were to accept her invitation. With her awaiting your answer, she then speaks again. Shy, ey? Anyone else want to try it out? Only two men, and sometimes women a fight. No rules. Have fun. Anyone, step up. With her speaking out as though what she has just relayed to the crowd as rules, you then have thoughts of hearing this somewhere else, or seeing this same scene in a place elsewhere. Nonetheless, you are still faced with the invitation of joining the so-called release. Do you join in? Or watch as the crowd enjoys the next bouts to come. The night is young, the rain just got weaker, nearly stopping completely, and you are on. |
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