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Welcome to A Writer's Landscape!

You have entered the realm of my mind where words play with the fabric of our existence. This is the map of my imagination: the very foundations of inspiration, musing, and thought splayed for your wandering eyes. Dive deep into the tides of these forces and experience my reality, my fantasy, my world; and if you should be so inclined, share your words with this land.

Peace and Love!

J Hart F

Monday, May 10, 2010

The Fight.

The announcer calls out, "And in the Red corner, straight from the swamps of deceit, riddled with bug infested hair, wearing eons old clothes, Miss Whale Swamp Sow! She's known for her lying uppercuts and fabricated logic! Her only passion -- to rule the ring."

The audience, caught in the enthusiasm of the announcer's voice, clapped politely with a few leering cat-calls. Meanwhile, Miss Whale looked around with a half smile, eyes piercing through the air as if trying to find her foe.

Allowing the applause to die down naturally, which didn't take long, the announcer continued his introductions, "And in the Green corner, already dazzled by previous battles in a resistance, standing a lean foot and a half over his opponent, always faithful and loyal -- The Magical Elf-Witch!"

The hall shook from the roar that came from the audience.

Without waiting, which would have wasted much time, the announcer began setting the parameters of the fight. "This will be a fast one! One round, six minutes, and hopefully we'll see a knockout!" More applause as several groups began chanting "Elf-Witch!" at the top of their lungs.

But in the ring, Miss Whale and the Elf-Witch were in perfect silence, staring at each other with malice and strength. There was more behind this fight than the friendly competition of most fights; these two called each other Nemesis.

The bell rang before either one was ready, but they vaulted for each other regardless. The clatter of bone against fat was resounding in a dull thud and the hall grew a little quieter as the opponents struggled together. Fists were thrown and missed, the air was sprayed with sweat and spit. Each landed their fair share of blows, swelling and bruising the other.

And then a bright flash sent Miss Whale stumbling backwards, her eyes stunned into a mad dash of blinking to rid her sight of the spots that appeared magically. While she recovered, Miss Whale let out a echoing bellow of guttural disdain. She flopped her gelatinous form onto the rink and sent waves of floor everywhere.

The Elf-Witch, his lithe and agile feet ready for such a desperate attack, nimbly rolled with the waves. Still he attacked with a poised energy, mythical in its retelling.

Within four minutes, Miss Whale Swamp Sow was flat on her back, slow and ragged breaths heaving her form up and down as her mouth hung open. The announcer took over the scene faster than the audience could realize.

"And the winner is the Magical Elf-Witch! What an amazing fight!"

The medics took twenty minutes to recover Miss Whale's attention and cart her off to the back corridors of the East wing. She never fought again.

(To those of you who might realize what is going on in my life, this is an allegory directed at me and one other. Hopefully the real end to the story will be as finite as this one, as my Nemesis will supposedly be moving in due time.)

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