Time for a fully artistic blog post. Click on the link that says “Cue music” and it will play a song which, hopefully, will add to the atmosphere of the piece. If it takes longer than the song length to read through, just loop it again until you do.
Enter the hero: an Asian teenager with dark jeans, a jet black jacket, and a black silk long-sleeve shirt. He stands upon the top of P Block of QUT Gardens Point, and look down upon the city nightscape. Cars cruising along the nearby highway. Civilians walking along the sidewalks, illuminated by the neon signs and fluorescent street lamps. The wind roars and his unzipped jacket violently sways in the wind. He does not shiver.
He jumps, leaping into the darkness, and then landing cat-like in a crouched position, unscathed. Arms by his side to stabilise his descent. His fall is near-silent, with only a whisper of air escaping underneath him as his knee and feet feather the ground. He does not falter.
Closing his eyes during the descent, he now opens them. He observes that he has landed on Gardens Point Road, between the River Stage and the building from which he leapt. He stands and sees the onlookers staring in shock at his sudden appearance. He starts to run full speed towards the Goodwill Bridge. He is full of anger.
His momentum is shifted effortlessly as he weaves between cyclists, joggers, and other pedestrians. As he climbs the bridge’s incline, he draws his Chinese straight sword from the left side of his waist and glances at the city to his right.
The Brisbane River divides South Bank and its relaxing atmosphere from the hustle-bustle of the CBD. He reaches the coffee shop on the bridge, which catches morning walkers with a caffeinated treat. He jumps off the shop’s guard-railed platform and begins to glide towards South Bank’s Riverside Boardwalk. The wind rushes through his dark short hair and his sword whistles its cry of death. He lands gracefully upon the River Quay Green. He spots his target.
His target, an obese and pompous businessman on an evening stroll with his Asian trophy wife, turns around at the sound of the Eagle Blade and sees his assailant landing silently. The target’s pupils dilate as fear sinks in before he begins to high-tail it, leaving his wife stranded on the pavement. Her high heels have snapped, and her frail legs and arms cannot support her weight fast enough. The hero rushes past her, taking her head clean off with only an outstretched arm. Blood pours vigourously, giving off a beautiful red fountain which glistens in the incandescent lamp light. He does not stop.
The businessman whistles with – of course – a whistle and two security guards snap to attention as the fat pig stumbles past. With their pistols drawn, they fire at the hero. But the hero isn’t fazed. He brushes all incoming fire with simple waves of his sword. As the guards fire their last bullets, the hero draws another sword, this time from his left shoulder scabbard. With the Eagle and Phoenix Blades, the hero slashes cleanly through the abdomen of the guards, leaving their entrails spewing out in a soup of blood and urine. He strides onward, unafraid.
The Dr Evil look-alike begins to slow down, stopping right in front of the Epicurious Garden. A statue of Confucius stands to bear witness to the onslaught to follow. The businessman falls down in exhaustion, and a shadow falls upon his helplessly hypersthenic habitus. The hero stands towering over him, even though the target is 180cm and the hero is ten shorter. The victim’s bald head trickles with sweat as rain begins to fall upon the city.
Says the hero, “The rain falls tonight. A thunderclap will signal your death. No amount of rain will wash the blood on your hands, you demon.”
In the panic, the fool replies, “You’ll never take us down! You’re nothing more than an immigrant with nothing to live for. Your kind has been brainwashed by my colleagues. You will never free your people, even if you try to take us all down!”
The hero stares at the victim. The hero’s eyes begin to glow, one vermillion red and the other aquamarine blue. The victim’s breath quickens, as his fate becomes sealed in an eternity of endless retribution. The roar of Heaven descends upon the Earth, and the echoes rebound throughout the city. The victim is left lifeless, his body limp, devoid of all sensation and sentience. The eyes of the hero return to a normal dark oak brown. His swords, drenched in soiled blood, are rinsed in Heaven’s shower, removing the traces of conflict.
But the hero’s sins and hatred stem too deep into his heart. No amount of rain or ocean could drown out the intensity of his abhorrence. The villain had been a source of the hero’s destructive disposition and debilitating depression. Family exile, citizen corruption, and political propaganda became the norm of his homeland, and as a citizen of freedom, the hero wanted nothing more than his people’s liberation from oppression.
Sheathing his blades, the hero glanced to his victim one last time with contempt and scoffed as he turned to the statue. Confucius stood there, his stern expression hiding no disdain for the violence within the philosophical garden. With his gaze fixed upon Confucius, the hero said…
“Life and death are too much alike. So much so that I often wonder whether there’s any need to distinguish between the two. I don’t believe in such distinctions anymore. As you’ve witnessed, such is the fragility of evil, and therefore life and death are too.”
The hero fades indistinguishably into the shadows, disappearing behind a silent vortex of leaf litter.
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this full delve into my imaginative mind, and expect to see more on the way. Subscribe, like, and comment on your opinions, and I will catch you guys later! DFTBA!