The fight started on a forgotten island. Sunk long ago, it rises now and again for bouts between the garishly garmented.
Heroes and villains, they say. Playing parts, heel-to-toe, us pedestrians get to watch them as they go
off on their star-wrangling escapades. And the casualties. Good lord, the blood. The viscera. Normally at least.
When the battle begins in a well-known metropolis: New Cornville
or Socktown or Bragg City--we all know the hits--
the death toll is hilariously grim. But today,
the fight started on that forgotten island. Blessedly it rose out of the east
with the sun, water pouring off and through it's body and infrastructure.
The poor people that inhabit Gilliatania were already taking pathetic shelter
while the flying men and women, the demons and angels that called themselves
necessary were migrating toward the theater. The bloody show must go on.