Monday, March 28, 2011

Varro vs. Reth

Today, we went to a university for a workshop (it was more of a lecture) about exam stress management. This, however, was preceded by a boring lecture of what to look in a college and bla bla bla... so I ended up half writing a fight scene. Later, I decided to complete it and, well, here it is:
He was in his ‘own’ chair, his favorite. His red swollen eyes, untrimmed beard, messy hair and freshly scarred left cheek told a story, as he sipped upon the powerful alcoholic drink. Mead, they called it. Honey wine, the bloody Gods’ drink… every bit as sour and bitter as it is intoxicating. He took huge gulps without care, for he was expecting a visitor.

The barn’s door almost tore open, and as the bright, nearly ghost-like moonlight invaded this secluded place, a burly figure emerged standing before it. Little over 6 feet, his width even more intimidating and a face rendered indescribable with rage, he would have scared an army. “VARRO!” he bellowed with wrath ringing in his voice, an instant before it was broken by his own crazed sprint, blind with loathe.

Varro’s body was met with his Reth’s, the way mile long high speed trains would meet in a movie. The mead had done its job well, Varro thought to himself, as they flew across the abandoned barn for a second that seemed to last an eternity. When they met Earth, the two large men found themselves rolling violently across the sand, and it took them a while to catch their own momentum and try to spin it in an effort to stand erect.

Reth’s arm came like a cannon ball: heavy, fast and steady, connecting with Varro’s face… almost attaching to it. But Varro was not without experience, and, using the moment as fully as possible, pulled Reth’s arm as soon as it began to retract, and, tugging at it with enough force, caused Reth to nearly tip over, just barely, only to drive his massive foot into his diaphragm. It took the air right out of him.

Before Varro could overuse his momentum, Reth used his position to lift Varro straight off his feet, swinging him wildly into the air, nearly touching the roof, and as Varro dived for Earth, Reth swung upwards with an uppercut that scratched the very fabric of spacetime, but Varro was aware, and like an acrobat, used Reth’s fist like a pole and front flipped right off it, only to find himself tripped in mid-air, clashing face-first with the dirt.
Reth was upon him in an instant, and like a mad animal, delivering punch after punch with no mercy, pushing Varro’s head deeper into the ground. Pounding and pounding and pounding, even after blood spewed left and right. He kept this on until the bones of his fists forced him to stop from pain, and Reth found himself collapsing from tiredness, his lungs no longer bearing the responsibility they did and the stench of revenge relaxing his body as his eyesight was robbed of him and he plunged to darkness.

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