Natwerk Designs

What do you think of this? Freeform.?

The stadium roared with the energized drones of the civilians, and the smoke pouring out from under my opponent’s heavily-armored cage blurred my vision of his face. Before he was a passionate force of the earth’s obsession to disaster and death, and now his bulky, powerful muscles were sheathed by the white mist and his low growls blanketed by the huge wall of buzzing all around us. They cheered the monster on, believing he was some sort of imposter-combatant toward me and this was a practice run of lethality, but would it only be until I was slaughtered that they realized their mistake? The lie was a city-wide presumption, but no results were really what they seemed. They should always know that. Outside of this bitter society, none of the army men would survive – not even the exclusively strong ones – and mere townspeople were practically already graveyard material. But I was designed for that kind of gravy. I guess you could call me the designated warrior to Pangaea, at least to the extents of this place. Here I was though, nature’s ultimate hero birthed within the walls of such a pathetic town, and now a disease-breathing Capital Dog was the only barricade between my environmental palace and I. No one would anticipate my forgotten memories of Re Vera until they noticed my name among the urban stories and daily news tales, but that was only possible if I lived through this wolf’s ripping claws, toxic spit, and fire-bitten tail. His hereditary features were better left unscathed and untamed by the humans, but my father insisted on utilizing the animal’s “fine” confliction between life and death for purposes of everyday entertainment. That was one of the two reasons why my oily blood was about to be splattered like thick paint all across the paved hills of the stadium. The other was crafty and true to my history, but still no need for hustling in a thirteen-foot tall, ravenous, rabid, probably angry wolf with a tail etched with venom-infused spikes to prove my prophecy. Guilty with assumptions of my own failure, I stepped forward on the dusty cement ground. “Eat her alive!” One bronze man yelped from the third seating row up in the crowds, his gangly arms swimming around hastily in the air above his giant head. He yearned for violence now, but I wondered what he would result to when this thing actually yanked my body down its swollen throat. Would he reach some sort of epiphany and walk out with dazed movements and wandering eyes, or would he rather run like no other pace of the wind through his yellow hair was acceptable? The afternoon light draped over the loud field, and suddenly all the hidden shadows accessible to me grew darker from the pale sun’s radiance. I could stash myself into the crammed locker rooms deep inside the bowels of the inner arena, but what courageous destiny-bringer would do that? What artist of time would swallow her guts like that and allow the theatre life to get the best of her? All spines were hunched in at this point, as if my actions were distant, my mind a psychological chalk board open for business. It raced at the speed of light and with the stubborn agility of the hungry wolf just yards before me, huffing out broken swirls of fog from his flaring nostrils. Just then I felt the agonizing, humiliating anxiety rush through my innards, spurting around my heart and oozing through its barren chambers. Of course, I had to be bothered at the worst moment of all my battles, and the most important, influential one too. If I slipped in one direction of weaker air, my fight was over, and the finale would succumb to this mangy mutt panting his brains out in his rusty little box. Father would have my ashes tossed away in a useless chasm far inside the bowels of the castle, where only he could touch my remnants and continue to loathe them like he did now. I had to now and forever promise myself that eternity’s grasp for the dead would never contain me, bruise me, or punish me. Never. Or else feel the heated wrath of my deceased legacy; a tight knick in the nose for shoving me the wrong way. Blow me away, I thought hopefully and crouched, preparing my anatomy for the stretch I would initiate any second now, slice me up and throw the bits away. Recycle, if you want to. But don’t hold back, don’t get scared, and don’t look at the faces betting on your soul to lose. They can get a life of their own to fall back with their gambling on. The otherworldly wolf brushed his forepaw over the screeching cement ground, his throaty, intimidating growl churning into a hiss. His furry lips slithered open, revealing newfound thirsts for my defeat with his rotten, black fangs. I was dead. I was a victim of myself and of this strange oddity birthed from the condemning, bottomless fountains of hatred, illness, and danger.

Public Comments

1. I think the writing is great- however, it could use some simplifying to make it have more flow.