Chiba Mamoru's visit to Fight Club
I stood up from my bed and walked out, out to the dark night. If there was a place I could go, I would find it. I was tired and I couldn't do anything about it. All the little things of my apartment sickened me to death. I had to get out. It was four o'clock in the morning and I couldn't go to Usa- ko's house since she was still asleep. I envied her innocent sleep, dreaming of me and sleeping in whatever position without discomfort, though I had no interest in seeing her right now. The only place I could and wanted to go to was at a twenty-four hour bar not too far from my apartment building. I thanked whoever built the place for putting it there, I needed a drink and bad.
I walked into the bar and noticed that a group of guys were hudled over a piece of paper, reading its content either laughing or contemplating on its meaning. Whatever it was, I just hoped it didn't go around to me. I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone right now and drinking was the only thing in my mind. Most people have the gift of gab and this didn't bother me so much. Hell, I have a girlfriend who has the gift ten-fold, I love her the way she is. But I didn't wanna talk that night. I sat down on the stool and ordered my beer. The bartender grabbed the nearest beer, not paying any attention if his hands had knocked something on the floor.
Careless bartender.
He handed me my poison and I swallowed its bitter contents down half- heartedly. The guy sitting next to me started to make small-talk conversation and said something about a Jack. I didn't pay attention to him and continued drinking my beer. He talked louder to get my attention and finally handed me a flyer with some type of poetry written into it.
I am Jack's low self-worth
I am Jack's prostate problem
I am Jack's fear
I am Jack's bitter tear
I am Jack's soul-piercing scream
I am Jack's bleeding heart
I am Jack's death rattle
If you were me
You wouldn't want to be Jack
Little shit paper. This was the thing I didn't want to make its way to me. I don't care who Jack is nor will I ever. Who ever wrote this must have been on crack. I crumpled the paper and threw it behind me. The guy sitting next to me laughed and stared at me, still laughing, smoking and drinking, he made me want to punch him. His little annoying shrill-laugh and smoke. It bothered me that I was drinking, now I had to inhale this asshole's cigarette smoke. He finally said something that caught my attention. I didn't know if this was the insomnia talking or the alcohol. but it got my attention and now I didn't want to punch him.
'If you stay you might have to fight, ya know.'
I now wanted to see this. Since my silence was broken, I felt like kicking some ass. I didn't care who and I didn't care when. I ordered another drink and grabbed to bowl of nuts right next to me. I grabbed a handful and layed them on the counter. With the empty beer bottle, I cracked the first walnut that was my first victim.
I am Jack's own disfigurement
I chucked the naked walnut into my mouth and chewed on it, again, half- heartedly. I wanted to know why this guy warned me about not staying. If it was a fight these people wanted, they were gonna get it. I didn't back down from any challange and It wasn't gonna start now. I grabbed the full beer bottle and drank. The group beside me got up syncroniced and made their way to the back of the store. I got up and walked behind them to the back. I was pumped to kick ass. The group opened a door on the floor to the basement. I walked behind them in curiosity and was told to shut the door. I did.
I am Jack's deadly discomfort
It felt damp as many basements feel. Everyone gathered in the middle of the room and one of them made his way to the center of this group. He saw me and began to talk
'The first rule of figth club is you do not talk about fight club. The sencond rule of......'
His words drowned on my own hysteria. Fight Club. I didn't show it very much, but I felt shitty, giddy and stupid. My own insomnia made me feel sick, I now knew of someway to kick ass and stupid because of the ass- kicking that these punks were gonna give me. I know Karate, but the size of these punks was ridiculous. The fuckers were twice my size. The 'kingpin' of the group pointed his finger at me and beckoned me with it. I walked up to him and told me I had to fight first with him, something about rule number--I didn't pay attention to the rules. He began to take off his shirt and I did the same. He cracked his knuckles and neck, I stetched my arms and legs. The group began to shout 'Tyler' and 'give'im an ass-kicking Durden', words of encouragement for their leader. Naturally the lambs followed the leader. he circled the makeshift arena and got closer to me. I had already prepared myself and had put my guard up. His arm flew his fist into my face and connected with a loud smack against my cheek. My head darted to the left and spit flew out of my mouth. He backed out a little and I got my composture back. I eyed his style and prepared my attack.
I drew a left-handed punch for his lower ribs, then tried to punch him in the face with my right hand. As he tried to block my right hand, I shifted my left side forward and brought my elbow up to his cheek for a loud crack. He had already fallen to the floor from the hit and put his hand over his mouth. I saw the blood on the floor and knew that I had drawned first blood. He got up with a sly smile, blood trickling down his mouth and nose. I had hit him bad and I didn't even realize it. He got his guard up and I got mine up. I got a little closer and punched him on the chest. He drew his left arm on top of my fist and his right amr below my fist, tightened the grip and pulled me with him. My ribs were now exposed and he took the opportunity to kick me there as hard as he could. Now his elbow and my face were eye-level. I saw the bone come up to me and slam itself into my face. He let go of my arm and I dropped to the floor. Now it was my nose that bled. I stood up, grabbed my face and smeared blood all over my face. I didn't feel the pain. It must have been the beer or the euphoria deep in my head, but I felt no pain. My hands were now smeared in blood. Many tribes wore color on their faces, war paint, to scare other tribes shitless. I smeared the blood on me to symbolize that. I got prepared again for the ass- kicking that was about to continue.
Me and 'Tyler' fought over five minutes, not givin up to each other. I now understood the little shit paper. I didn't not want to be Jack, but I had no choise now. I decided to stay. I decided to fight. I was now Jack, being attacked by the many problems that plauged my insignificant little life. But in Fight Club, it didn't matter. Not as I saw it anyway. The fight had ended with me on the ground covered in more of my own blood. My head had slammed on the floor as I fell by the swift left hook 'Tyler' landed on me. My blood all over the floor, I layed there sighing a breath of relief. It was over. 'Tyler' helped me up along with his buddies. They all said I was exellent and that I gave the fight of my life. I looked at each and everyone of them and laughed. Sure this was painful, but I laughed because I felt something I did not feel in ages. A kind of peace that only came from unleashing one's anger and flushing it out of the body. I walked out, made my way out of the bar bloodied and heavily bruised. I slowly made my way to my apartment and winced as every bone in my body screamed in pain. I opened the door and made my way to the shower. I wanted to clean myself from the dirt, the mold and mildew, the blood from my early event. The bath made my wounds scream and I felt worse. The soap didn't seem to help any. As soon as I was finished, I got on my bed and just layed there, tired and sleepy. I fell to a deep slumber that seemed to take ages.
The following day, I went back to fight club for more.
FIN
(Gothic: this is the by-product of insomnia and watching Fight Club. I stayed up watching it and now, I wrote this. It's a Sailor Moon/Fight Club crossover if you haven't figured it out already.)
I stood up from my bed and walked out, out to the dark night. If there was a place I could go, I would find it. I was tired and I couldn't do anything about it. All the little things of my apartment sickened me to death. I had to get out. It was four o'clock in the morning and I couldn't go to Usa- ko's house since she was still asleep. I envied her innocent sleep, dreaming of me and sleeping in whatever position without discomfort, though I had no interest in seeing her right now. The only place I could and wanted to go to was at a twenty-four hour bar not too far from my apartment building. I thanked whoever built the place for putting it there, I needed a drink and bad.
I walked into the bar and noticed that a group of guys were hudled over a piece of paper, reading its content either laughing or contemplating on its meaning. Whatever it was, I just hoped it didn't go around to me. I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone right now and drinking was the only thing in my mind. Most people have the gift of gab and this didn't bother me so much. Hell, I have a girlfriend who has the gift ten-fold, I love her the way she is. But I didn't wanna talk that night. I sat down on the stool and ordered my beer. The bartender grabbed the nearest beer, not paying any attention if his hands had knocked something on the floor.
Careless bartender.
He handed me my poison and I swallowed its bitter contents down half- heartedly. The guy sitting next to me started to make small-talk conversation and said something about a Jack. I didn't pay attention to him and continued drinking my beer. He talked louder to get my attention and finally handed me a flyer with some type of poetry written into it.
I am Jack's low self-worth
I am Jack's prostate problem
I am Jack's fear
I am Jack's bitter tear
I am Jack's soul-piercing scream
I am Jack's bleeding heart
I am Jack's death rattle
If you were me
You wouldn't want to be Jack
Little shit paper. This was the thing I didn't want to make its way to me. I don't care who Jack is nor will I ever. Who ever wrote this must have been on crack. I crumpled the paper and threw it behind me. The guy sitting next to me laughed and stared at me, still laughing, smoking and drinking, he made me want to punch him. His little annoying shrill-laugh and smoke. It bothered me that I was drinking, now I had to inhale this asshole's cigarette smoke. He finally said something that caught my attention. I didn't know if this was the insomnia talking or the alcohol. but it got my attention and now I didn't want to punch him.
'If you stay you might have to fight, ya know.'
I now wanted to see this. Since my silence was broken, I felt like kicking some ass. I didn't care who and I didn't care when. I ordered another drink and grabbed to bowl of nuts right next to me. I grabbed a handful and layed them on the counter. With the empty beer bottle, I cracked the first walnut that was my first victim.
I am Jack's own disfigurement
I chucked the naked walnut into my mouth and chewed on it, again, half- heartedly. I wanted to know why this guy warned me about not staying. If it was a fight these people wanted, they were gonna get it. I didn't back down from any challange and It wasn't gonna start now. I grabbed the full beer bottle and drank. The group beside me got up syncroniced and made their way to the back of the store. I got up and walked behind them to the back. I was pumped to kick ass. The group opened a door on the floor to the basement. I walked behind them in curiosity and was told to shut the door. I did.
I am Jack's deadly discomfort
It felt damp as many basements feel. Everyone gathered in the middle of the room and one of them made his way to the center of this group. He saw me and began to talk
'The first rule of figth club is you do not talk about fight club. The sencond rule of......'
His words drowned on my own hysteria. Fight Club. I didn't show it very much, but I felt shitty, giddy and stupid. My own insomnia made me feel sick, I now knew of someway to kick ass and stupid because of the ass- kicking that these punks were gonna give me. I know Karate, but the size of these punks was ridiculous. The fuckers were twice my size. The 'kingpin' of the group pointed his finger at me and beckoned me with it. I walked up to him and told me I had to fight first with him, something about rule number--I didn't pay attention to the rules. He began to take off his shirt and I did the same. He cracked his knuckles and neck, I stetched my arms and legs. The group began to shout 'Tyler' and 'give'im an ass-kicking Durden', words of encouragement for their leader. Naturally the lambs followed the leader. he circled the makeshift arena and got closer to me. I had already prepared myself and had put my guard up. His arm flew his fist into my face and connected with a loud smack against my cheek. My head darted to the left and spit flew out of my mouth. He backed out a little and I got my composture back. I eyed his style and prepared my attack.
I drew a left-handed punch for his lower ribs, then tried to punch him in the face with my right hand. As he tried to block my right hand, I shifted my left side forward and brought my elbow up to his cheek for a loud crack. He had already fallen to the floor from the hit and put his hand over his mouth. I saw the blood on the floor and knew that I had drawned first blood. He got up with a sly smile, blood trickling down his mouth and nose. I had hit him bad and I didn't even realize it. He got his guard up and I got mine up. I got a little closer and punched him on the chest. He drew his left arm on top of my fist and his right amr below my fist, tightened the grip and pulled me with him. My ribs were now exposed and he took the opportunity to kick me there as hard as he could. Now his elbow and my face were eye-level. I saw the bone come up to me and slam itself into my face. He let go of my arm and I dropped to the floor. Now it was my nose that bled. I stood up, grabbed my face and smeared blood all over my face. I didn't feel the pain. It must have been the beer or the euphoria deep in my head, but I felt no pain. My hands were now smeared in blood. Many tribes wore color on their faces, war paint, to scare other tribes shitless. I smeared the blood on me to symbolize that. I got prepared again for the ass- kicking that was about to continue.
Me and 'Tyler' fought over five minutes, not givin up to each other. I now understood the little shit paper. I didn't not want to be Jack, but I had no choise now. I decided to stay. I decided to fight. I was now Jack, being attacked by the many problems that plauged my insignificant little life. But in Fight Club, it didn't matter. Not as I saw it anyway. The fight had ended with me on the ground covered in more of my own blood. My head had slammed on the floor as I fell by the swift left hook 'Tyler' landed on me. My blood all over the floor, I layed there sighing a breath of relief. It was over. 'Tyler' helped me up along with his buddies. They all said I was exellent and that I gave the fight of my life. I looked at each and everyone of them and laughed. Sure this was painful, but I laughed because I felt something I did not feel in ages. A kind of peace that only came from unleashing one's anger and flushing it out of the body. I walked out, made my way out of the bar bloodied and heavily bruised. I slowly made my way to my apartment and winced as every bone in my body screamed in pain. I opened the door and made my way to the shower. I wanted to clean myself from the dirt, the mold and mildew, the blood from my early event. The bath made my wounds scream and I felt worse. The soap didn't seem to help any. As soon as I was finished, I got on my bed and just layed there, tired and sleepy. I fell to a deep slumber that seemed to take ages.
The following day, I went back to fight club for more.
FIN
(Gothic: this is the by-product of insomnia and watching Fight Club. I stayed up watching it and now, I wrote this. It's a Sailor Moon/Fight Club crossover if you haven't figured it out already.)