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Some writing...
Philosophy: Blood Sport
People have always been fascinated with death, or at least the ones that I have had the displeasure of knowing. Perhaps it is my profession, or the fact that I do not have the means to meet people who can afford to not think about their demise, as well as the demise of others. Even now I can hear the ever present presence of those who call themselves my fans because of my affinity with death and its many violent means of being distributed, or perhaps they are merely people who wish to see the primal being released upon others. Most of them, I think, have given into this persona themselves, and have come to indulge in their carnal nature, to see what men have inside of them.

I am disgusted by the fact that their cheers for me and my kind makes me feel joy, or some lesser emotion like it, in knowing that I am appreciated for my skill. Waves of nausea without cease battle with the emotion of joy, which can be powerful enough to break even the most stubborn of men into unspeakable acts, as I unfortunately know all to well. For certain I will be damned for my nature as well as my skill in this arena, yet I care not, for now the announcer calls my name, and more cheers erupt.

My blood boils now as pride and the depravity of the human race take over, as well as my foreknowledge of coming events. I feel my instrument take its place of rest on my shoulder as the gate which had barred my path fell open before me. The path before me was the fastest way into hell, yet it is a path I have walked many times before, usually with much more ease and enthusiasm then I do now, yet now is when my doubts lay most heavily upon me. It is odd, but I never encountered such thoughts before when this had seemed even more like an immoral matter to me, but now that I am so thoroughly entangled with this horrible place is when I begin to feel thoughts of how wrong this is intrude upon my mind. Intriguing, yet pointless.

I did not come here to wax philosophic, yet now is when the desire to do so rests most heavily upon me. Even when I was reclining in a bar filled with men so unlike me in the fact that each thought himself a lover of wisdom, and whatever deity that controlled such thoughts, while merely spewing the drunken ramblings of the beaten and broken warrior. Now I, a far from broken and as of yet never beaten man of such mold find myself falling into the same disease that inflicted them. And my body somehow propels itself through its appointed tasks without any impute from the mind which is supposed to guide it.

My body strides out into the sand of my chosen Hades, while leaving my mind in the turmoil that is so unfamiliar to it. My body strides with purpose toward its physical and so easily beatable foe, yet my mind has chosen to wrestle with intangible demons that come under the guise of worthwhile thought. I cannot help but feel disgusted by the slavering masses around me, willing to watch a mortal candle be snuffed out for the paltry price of a few pieces of whatever treasure a man such as me could ask. The hypocrisy of my thoughts was made all the more maddening by the very fact that my body sang for such a thing to happen.

Blood thundered in my ears and adrenaline pulsed through my veins as my body faced my opponent, while my mind stayed locked in dangerous thought. If only my mind could join my body, so that they may sing in unison in the deadly dance that would come so soon! My thoughts were thrown further and further into the philosophic paradise as my body rushed to meet its own challenger, perhaps to be sped toward its own version of paradise. The clash of metal on metal only brought further turmoil to my mind as my weapon rose to block my foes, and things were brought into such clarity that by my reflexive counter. My mind couldn’t help but see every little detail even as it spun deeper into thoughts that had no business in my mind. I could clearly see the piss running down my foes leg, as my mind contemplate the spittle leaking from the mouths of so many shouting fans, each more vehement then the last in their cries for blood.

My mind furiously sought some evidence of good among the countless army of fans which had gathered on the arena’s walls, just as my arms pumped furiously, so much like the fists of those same fans, in its siege of my foe’s defenses. Each block rose like a slowly crumbling wall, as my mind tried vainly to block out the invading thoughts of the lack of human morality. I could only find more and more reasons to rail against the human stain on the sensibilities as my own weapon thundered against a hastily upraised axe. Each impact of metal sent shockwaves crawling up my arm, and the roar of colliding weapons wailed in my ear, disrupting my thoughts further.

I could no longer think of anything other then the fact that I was a willing pawn, an accessory to the search for violence and depravity that these people wanted so badly. The match as well as the world around me blurred into one meaningless image of violence, no longer a necessity but now entertainment for the masses, and cheering men ghoulishly crying for blood. A morbid fascination of these screaming faces overcame me as I tried to see things form their perspective, hoping that I could perhaps regain my love of conflict in such a way. I viewed my own fight with as much detachment as I could, viewing it form their angle, not as one of the participants but as an eager onlooker.

I could see my weapon being raised against such a weaker foe that finally dropped his axe because of the unrelenting blows that fell upon it. I could feel the people around me rise form their seats in eager expectation of another death to feed their insatiable desires, but were rewarded with an even greater sight, that of continuing violence as my foe deftly side stepped what was supposed to be the last strike, cocked his fist, and…

My reality exploded into stars and a red haze burned into my consciousness as a fist collided with my own face. I could feel my nose pop under a second blow, a warm wetness which I knew so well splashing over my face and into my eyes, further enhancing the red haze through which I viewed the world. A third explosion of pain caused me to drop my weapon, still stuck in the sand, and reel backward. A strong hand gripped the front of my shirt and I could finally see the red liquid which dripped from my enemy’s hand, my own blood. The same warm liquid painted my face, and began to flow through my veins with renewed intensity.

My mind melted again, this time into the blessing of rage and insanity. My mind was once more mercifully blank as I felt my body heave into action. I could only see a blurred vision of my own hands pummeling the man who had caused me pain, and enjoying every minute of it. I only felt my mind begin to return to clarity as I loomed over the fallen for, beaten bloody by my rage, and grasping the handle of my weapon with renewed intensity. I raised the massive instrument over my head and prepared to bring it down once and for all. The cheers around me reached a fevered pitch, a crescendo of violence as once more thought struck me. I no longer wanted to be a pawn to such desires, I didn’t want to dispense death to people who didn’t deserve it any longer. Yet it was too late to change, I was too immersed in my ways as a provider for the insanities of these people.

But what if it was possible, would I do it? It would always be easier to continue walking this path until someone finally was able to give me my well deserved death. I would die, and perhaps those who I had killed wrongfully would feel some measure of peace. I felt my hands tremble, just as the man who I had beaten found consciousness once more. Pity over came me, and finally I made my choice. My weapon thundered down, biting deep into the sand of the arena, and the crowd fell quiet. There was no blood for them to sate their lusts, and I slowly walked away, no longer their hero, and no longer their servant.

I felt calm for the first time in my life, not lustful for distraction or renewed battle as before, but a true serenity. Alone with my thoughts, just as darkness came thundering into my life once more. Pain bit me for only a second, before sensation began to fade, and the world along with it. I knew that the weapon my foe had dropped earlier now bit deeply into my back, but I couldn’t find any hatred along with this knowledge. I fell to the sand, my body and mind once more singing in unison as blood spilt around me.

If I could have smiled at that moment, I would have. I had won my greatest victory, as well as my last, though history and the people who remained so silent would count it only as a loss. I was no longer a slave to their demands, no longer a false hero who catered to the insanity of a mob. My mind was free of them, and soon it would be free of the vessel which carried it. My mind sang in unison with my body, until finally only one song rose into the darkness. My mind rose into the mystery, the fascninating threshold which so many philosophers liked to debate about, the subject of endless debate.

And I couldn’t have been happier.





 
 
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