A/N Very descriptive. I did have one star in mind whilst writing this but
it could apply to any of them.
At first glance the arena appears abandoned. The show is long finished, the stars, crew and crowd had long gone leaving only their debris. Across the floor lies a slight scattering of rubbish, drink cartons, pop corn tubs an sweet wrappers. A silent hush encases the huge space. There are only a few lights left on, enough to see by but only dimly. Even the shadows remain still respecting the silence and serenity.
Presently a figure detaches itself from the shadows, the sound of its feet creating a hollow echo as it makes its way to ringside. It jumps the guard- rail, stops and climbs onto the apron and to the top of the turnbuckle where it sits, eyes roaming the darkness sadly.
The inky shape is at ease with the darkness and eerie quiet of the deserted ring. Its blank eyes search the empty seats and blank titan tron for a relief from its pain. Somehow the figure belongs to the darkened arena, it is connected with its surroundings and there is an unshakeable feeling of the past and history in the air around it. The figure seems at home, its purpose and point is to be here.
Despite this there is an air of dejection, despondency and depression to this lone silhouette. A forlorn desolation envelopes it and its melancholy state is intensified by the deserted arena. A hand reaches to its facing, chasing away an unbidden tear as it surveys the remote darkness.
The wretched figure gives a sigh and all hope is lost. More tears race down its large cheeks but the penumbral shape no longer cares. It shakes, as its form is overcome by sobs, a hollow, haunting sound that reverberates and fills the desolate space.
Suddenly the figure leaps from the turnbuckle, pacing the ring, trying to compose itself. It becomes lost in memory and is no longer alone. For a moment the figure straightens, growing proud as it immerses itself in the past. It raises its hand above its head in victory, almost exultant in its production of this past recollection but as suddenly as the gloom lifted, it descends again and the figure seems to age. Finally halting, its shoulders slumped in unmistakable defeat.
The weary shape leaves the ring slowly, silently ascending the ramp, pausing at the top and turning to face the deserted expanse. The figure studies the sombre darkness, recreating past triumphs in a futile attempt at optimism.
All the seats are full, the whole arena buzzing and the ring announcers voice is barely audible over the crowds delighted cheers. As if watching a film the figure sees itself, younger and stronger, moving down the ramp to rapturous applause. The arena is plunged into darkness as its opponent makes their grand entrance but within seconds they are fighting. The figure watches the ghost of itself, reliving the most dramatic fight of its life. The referee announces the shape victorious and the shape raises his hand signalling his win. The ghost turns to face him and is gone.
Suddenly ripped from his memory, the figure comes back to reality. The seats are again empty, silent and the shape is again alone. The figure becomes aware of the moist tears upon its cheek and rubs them away, turning and exiting through the curtain.
Behind the retreating figure the arena plunges into darkness and all is still, silent and serene once more.
So they we are! PLEASE review! I may do a follow up from the perspective of the superstar, I'm not sure yet!
At first glance the arena appears abandoned. The show is long finished, the stars, crew and crowd had long gone leaving only their debris. Across the floor lies a slight scattering of rubbish, drink cartons, pop corn tubs an sweet wrappers. A silent hush encases the huge space. There are only a few lights left on, enough to see by but only dimly. Even the shadows remain still respecting the silence and serenity.
Presently a figure detaches itself from the shadows, the sound of its feet creating a hollow echo as it makes its way to ringside. It jumps the guard- rail, stops and climbs onto the apron and to the top of the turnbuckle where it sits, eyes roaming the darkness sadly.
The inky shape is at ease with the darkness and eerie quiet of the deserted ring. Its blank eyes search the empty seats and blank titan tron for a relief from its pain. Somehow the figure belongs to the darkened arena, it is connected with its surroundings and there is an unshakeable feeling of the past and history in the air around it. The figure seems at home, its purpose and point is to be here.
Despite this there is an air of dejection, despondency and depression to this lone silhouette. A forlorn desolation envelopes it and its melancholy state is intensified by the deserted arena. A hand reaches to its facing, chasing away an unbidden tear as it surveys the remote darkness.
The wretched figure gives a sigh and all hope is lost. More tears race down its large cheeks but the penumbral shape no longer cares. It shakes, as its form is overcome by sobs, a hollow, haunting sound that reverberates and fills the desolate space.
Suddenly the figure leaps from the turnbuckle, pacing the ring, trying to compose itself. It becomes lost in memory and is no longer alone. For a moment the figure straightens, growing proud as it immerses itself in the past. It raises its hand above its head in victory, almost exultant in its production of this past recollection but as suddenly as the gloom lifted, it descends again and the figure seems to age. Finally halting, its shoulders slumped in unmistakable defeat.
The weary shape leaves the ring slowly, silently ascending the ramp, pausing at the top and turning to face the deserted expanse. The figure studies the sombre darkness, recreating past triumphs in a futile attempt at optimism.
All the seats are full, the whole arena buzzing and the ring announcers voice is barely audible over the crowds delighted cheers. As if watching a film the figure sees itself, younger and stronger, moving down the ramp to rapturous applause. The arena is plunged into darkness as its opponent makes their grand entrance but within seconds they are fighting. The figure watches the ghost of itself, reliving the most dramatic fight of its life. The referee announces the shape victorious and the shape raises his hand signalling his win. The ghost turns to face him and is gone.
Suddenly ripped from his memory, the figure comes back to reality. The seats are again empty, silent and the shape is again alone. The figure becomes aware of the moist tears upon its cheek and rubs them away, turning and exiting through the curtain.
Behind the retreating figure the arena plunges into darkness and all is still, silent and serene once more.
So they we are! PLEASE review! I may do a follow up from the perspective of the superstar, I'm not sure yet!