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| by comrade commissar | Thomas | @ Friday, March 23, 2007, 7:36:00 AM | permalink |
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Its like the subconscious hit a brick wall in the budget department. "Wow. Its the dojo room in that Wachowski brothers' flick." What to do, when I have become so dependent on visual/audio special effects from pop culture media. My brain can only recreate their depictions of reality, or in this case, hyper-reality. My spoken comment was meant for the only other person in the vast empty sparring hall. My opponent. Our bare feet creaks upon the grounds paved with a carpet of dried reeds. "You DO know how to use that right?" I gesture, pointing to the double-edged blade she holds tightly with both hands. She sneers, removes her right hand from the blade... to reach for one of the other three sheathed ones that she carries on her back, their scabbards strapped tight to her with bandage-like strips of material. This one's a versatile fighter, my last thoughts before she cut the distance between us from 10 metres down to mere inches with a single leap forward in a split second. I parry off a clean wide arch meant to disgorge my intestines, followed by another swift hack intended to take my head clean off the neck. She fights with experienced hands, her double-edge in the right master hand, a short sword in her left. Powerful attacks, undeniably. I leap up with my knees almost touching my chins, dodging a scissors-like double cut which would have prevent me from ever walking again if it did succeed. Efficient blows yes, but its all basic stuff. Overeasy. She lacks flair. Using her head as a pivot I do a one-handed 180 degrees jump right over her, startling her long enough to pull the remaining 2 short swords that were in the scabbards with the left hand. She does a triple somersault to maintain defensive distances. I hurl her short swords like shurikens - she deflects them away harmlessly with deft strikes of her double-edge. I'm not here to kill, I realise. The fight continues on as we exchange 70s kungfu flick blows. Paper doors get cut down to shreds, solid teak pillars are dissected clean by strikes that would have done the same for meat, tendon and bone. We learn moves from each other, swift steps and lightning strikes within the fighting grounds, bringing the house down. She becomes more confident and poetic, I become stronger. "This is good. This is very good." I yell above the din of clashing steel against steel. She lets a smile peek for a brief moment, between her concentrated expressions to murder me. Another slash misses my waist. Well, just barely. A teak pillar takes my place. The ceiling starts to collapse, the place is caving in. I missed, hacking yet another pillar down. The building gives way. |
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Dupa Jasia @ times 3:55 AM, April 12, 2007
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<--latest post-- twenty-one--time to kickstart that dead engine--simple pleasures--nerd rock inadequacy--after rain--two wheeler midnight pedals--yea yea i was caught--short story: alternative reality--helter skelter--backdated: GSE @ suntec-- --last post--> |
