The fire flickered in the campsite. The Ruins of the civilization prior to ours obstructed the view of the suns horizon. The cold of the night departing to another area of the world as the smoke hovered into the sky, as simply as cigare smoke puffed into the air. The warriors preformed their flares and pops. Ticking to the lost beat of the New York civilizations.
We were preparing for a War brought on by the attackers. They wanted turf...we refused. As was the nature of our world now that the past events happened. Looking around a charred Flier labled "Class of 2013" faltered to the floor from the wall.
Nuclear war, hate, and greed had long since destroyed the planet, leaving only our hearts and with hearts come imagination and with that comes The Arts. The arts grew to full bloom in our little left over of a war. Dance being the major weapons, music the Ammo. B-boys spun and performed their knee drops in open view, training for the upcoming war.
They were our brawn, representing some of the most original moves of Hip-hop, their uncommon strength to survive was known to them as inspiring, and to some terrifying. The Poppers were next on the other hand, their waves and chest pops denying their physical laws. Their bones cracking repeatedly in unison of the rusted old dusty remains of cds and many audio players.
Many other dancers and forms existed within our little tribe. The violent and yet subtle Krumpers, the Robots moving at a "techno-physical" state, The ballerinas and tappers performing their oldest of practices, and the majority of Hip-hop dancers. This destiny wrought onto us all descended from a likeliness that we would always have war, we just found a new way of doing it.
It may've been a century ago that this happened. Dancing Arts rising to the tips of Human fingertips to be used as a weapon, Dancers using their elegant build to send challenges for more turf, facing new dangers and finding newer moves. Music had a effect on us all, After a century of collected minds beileveing something possible it can be true. We turned beauty into a lethal weapon. Where if you lose a dance battle you hope you can just leave injured otherwise you'd drop dead from the shock.
I've been thinking too much. My soldiers need me to lead them in a ceremony of rights. We were entitled "BFABB" (Born from a Boombox) and we honored that. We even honored enemies, beileving in a old philsophy "Love your Haters". The Fire was out and in a distance a hard and violent hip hop beat scuttled into the NYC Turf Ruins. The B-boys, Krumpers, and Poppers are went to the front line as the Enemies burst out. Our poppers sending flips and pop, their B-boys doing their handstands. The battle had begun and the sides were now at it. And you can only hope you win.
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