It's dark in here. I can't say I don't like it because I know what this will ultimately lead to. One day, that's right, one day I shall achieve global domination! Scratch that. One day WE shall achieve global domination.
Ooh, I yearn to see daylight again. To be out of this stuffy enclosure, where I can finally swing and then hit others like myself. Like myself, but not as good as myself, for I have been bread for global domination. We shall achieve global domination.
I sometimes feel like my life has come about full circle. Sitting in this enclosed space I feel like I'm back in my cocoon, hanging from the tree with all my friends. We'd hang there waiting for the perfect day before we start breaking out from the womb and drop to our freedom. With the brisk autumn wind blowing against our branches we'd talk about what we'd do if we were ever lucky enough to be chosen to be a fighter. One of my friends, he was the smartest, he knew everything that needed to be done to really prepare to be a fighter.
'Phase one: They submerge you in vinegar for 20 minutes. Phase two: Straight from the vinegar you go into the oven for 10 minutes. Not...too hot,' he pointed out with great emphasis, 'but just enough to let the vinegar marinate you. Phase three: Clear nail varnish. One coat. Allow to dry. Phase four: A SECOND COAT of clear nail varnish. Phase five: Instantly you shall be placed in an airing cupboard for one season!' He always stopped for dramatic purposes. 'These, my friends, are what's known as “The phases of a champion”.'
I am currently on phase 5 of “The phases of a champion”.
The overwhelming smell of nail varnish deteriorated many months ago. It was a strange experience being put in the airing cupboard then. I wasn't exactly myself when I came in here. I was certainly hallucinating from the mass quantity of nail varnish and the smell emanating from it's toxins. Many days went past when I sat here obligatorily giving a thumbs up or a thumbs down to battle-hardened gladiators, while I was being force fed grapes. That time soon past and I came to my senses. I understand that patience is a virtue, that greatness can only be achieved through hard work and sacrifice. I shall prevail.
I trust in my partner one hundred percent. He's chose me after eliminating all others from the soggy ground on that fateful day. He nourished me and bathed me (in vinegar), he kept me warm and placed a roof over my head (in an airing cupboard) and he is wise beyond all our years. At the age of 42 he will out-think, outfight and out-everything all those pesky children who wish to challenge him.
Come to think of it, one season must have past by now. It must be down to a matter of days before my partner comes and collects me to prepare me for battle. I know if I just hold and mentally prepare then that door will open, the light will flood in and wash over me like a baptism for a baby. I just need to prepare...
...mentally....
...prepare....
...menta-
What was that noise? There it is, there's the light! This is the moment I have yearned for. Ages have past; babies have been conceived and emerged from their mucus-laden cove screaming and bawling; cans of food have reached their expiry date! My time has come!
It's hard to adjust to such a huge amount light as it hits you at once, but I struggled and forced myself to witness this history in the making.
His hands, big and white with deep, cavernous wrinkles running through his palms, would provide a library of information for a palm reader. Gently he scoops me up and we're off. Haphazardly he places me in his pocket – it's a little bit of a harsh contrast to how he picked me up, but that's ok, he knows I'm a fighter. He knows I'm solid as a rock. We will dominate the world; a drop in the pocket is nothing!
Before I know it he's groping around in his pocket and pulling me out. I'm sitting on a work bench! Oh the stories are true! There, sitting a few inches away is the screw that's going to pierce a hole in me. It looks strong! Ah! And on the end of the work bench! A large coil of string! No doubt he'll cut that down to size and run it straight through me, tie a knot at the end et voila!
I'm so excited. I wonder if he can see me shaking.
He's gone back to his gentle methods; he precariously balances me upright...i can feel the sharp end of the screw firmly pressed against the top of me. The pressure increases, he's going to push it through...
…
…
...OOF! That a big shudder, but it's through! That's it! Now for the string and we're all set.
“BOLLOCKS!!! BOLLOCKS, BOLLOCKS, SHIT!!!”
What's happening? Why the swearing? Wait, why am I falling? Noooooo!
Oof! I'm on the floor! Surely he knows I'm on the floor. Don't panic he probably just cut his finger. Wait. Why...what is that? That looks like...no! No! That looks like my left half...which means...
“You split in half you little bastard! I followed the instructions. This is what the internet said!!!”
I don't like how angry he is, why is he raising his foot over me? I hope he's not going to -
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