Wasted Blood...

This one is inspired by my newfound favorite sport, and of course by one of the parallel versions of myself…

I stood in my corner motionless as I watched him approach from the other end of the hall, and instantly wondered why I was standing there. The pitchy cheering sounds snapped me out of the long daze I've been in ever since I set foot on this ring. The champ pranced about as he drew nearer to the fight zone, waving to his fans and occasionally shaking hands with a few lucky ones. Just like a king acknowledging his subjects, I thought to myself. Watching him get closer in a confident fashion instantly sent a cold chill down my spine, he was one big guy. Worried but not scared, I kept telling myself that I have the speed and more importantly a killer right punch. Failed attempts at self reassurance…

The question came to mind once more: "Why in God's name are you here?". That is probably the only question to which I knew the answer, yet never seized to ask time and again. Questions that start with "Why" never seem to have answers, and when they do, the answers are hardly convincing, hence sending my mind to madness instead of sought serenity. That is why I hate questions that start with "Why", always have and always will…

This specific repetitive question however remains the exception, because the answer comes instinctively and it lights the abandoned room of hope in my house of despair. You see, I believe that I once had the perfect life; to me it was at least. It was nothing exceptional, but it made me happy; it was my exceptional life. Like everything else, this too had to end. Why it ended is of course a question I never ask and never will, and the reason to that is quite obvious. So, lost and disoriented I stood there in my corner because what remained of my former life and self was my pride. Pride is all I had, and it is why I was embarking on this challenge. Pride was my only hope at any fresh beginning, and if that came at risk of getting maimed and mangled in public, I didn't mind. Ironically, this fight was my only chance; it was the double edged blade I held on to in resolution.

Upon announcing my name on the microphone, I was jeered out of my contemplation for the second time. I looked up only to see my opponent had geared up and was walking towards me. He said something about murdering me, but I couldn't care less. His threats didn't matter, because my fight was never with him, so I just nodded and smiled. I tightened my gloves, put on my head and mouth guard and hopped a few times in place. "Here goes" I said out loud…

The bell declared the beginning of the first round and I was already dancing around my opponent trying to find an opening, while the champ moved slowly and wisely strategizing. I was eager and excited, almost like I had a point to prove, but to whom? As the anticipation rose I started seeing faces and images of my past in place of my rival. I knew this would happen; in fact I wanted it to happen. That is the fight I was there for…

Reminded of an unborn future by a dead past, my anger was fueled and I charged my memories almost insanely. The mere sight of them set my heart on fire and tore the last strings that tied me to reality. To my utter surprise, I was unable to land a single punch. I didn't know whether I was deliberately missing or the fighter to which the memories were bound was simply too fast. In retaliation my memories hit back hard in all the areas I left uncovered during my rampage. My memories were punishing me…

I managed to last the round and retreat to my corner in anguish, the first round certainly didn't go well for me. I felt throbbing pain all over my body, yet it was incomparable to the pain I felt inside, as a result of the battle in my head. I stood up and walked back towards my opponent while the bell sounded once more…

I decided to take it slowly and give myself a chance to counter instead of hasty bashing. Quickly I circled the champ again waiting for him to initiate the attack, and he didn't disappoint. Right before his first punch landed on my face, I could swear that I saw myself throwing it, as if I was fighting a mirror. I stumbled back and moved towards the ropes just to get a better look, and I was right. Instead of the skilled fighter I saw myself standing there only a bit younger, which in fact wasn't a bad thing. After suffering from an instantaneous shock, I grinned at myself. "I know your every move" I thought, "I'm way ahead of you". I closed on my mirror reflection and engaged in a brawl with him. This was an opponent I thought I'd be able to take down, and he sure deserved to be taken down hard. It took all my might to keep up with him in a fight, it seemed that it was in fact him who knew my ever move. He knew exactly where I was going to hit and where my next step will be, whereas I had no clue what he'll do next. Forced to switch to a defensive mode, I was once again being pummeled by my younger self. At that point I had realized that I had one more round of torment to go, and I had no idea who I'll be facing next. The thought was almost thrilling…

In a split second I heard a loud popping sound, followed by a punch to the face that sent me flying to the ground. I tried to get up, but searing pain shot through my right shoulder. Realizing that my shoulder was dislocated, I lay on the ground in agony listening to the countdown that had just started. I didn't want to end the fight, but given the excruciating pain I didn't know if could proceed. My muscles were going into spasms and all I could think of is how much my shoulder hurts. "Four" the referee shouted prompting me to take a quick decision, which in turn led me into the abandoned room of hope. Ironically, as I drove through roads of physical pain I for once forgot all about my emotional and mental one. It seems that my head was not the only torture chamber…

One round was all that was left, and I decided to go thru with it. I got up using my left arm and nodded in approval to the question posed by the ref.

"Will you be able to carry on?"

I let out a loud sigh of relief when I heard the bell announcing the end of the second round, before having to fight again. As I walked towards my corner, I wished to see my coach standing there. He however – like many others – had abandoned me. So, throwing in the towel was not option, even if I wanted to mid-fight. After taking a couple of breaths, I thought of popping my arm back in place, but I had no idea how and I would be risking messing it up further, so I decided not to.

The thought of either my past failing me, or me failing myself was not pleasant, but it hardly mattered now. There's a world outside my head, and a life after the one I had. I sat silently waiting for the bell to kick off round three, for that is when the real fight began…

Having to fight without my stronger arm was infuriating seeing that I finally had my eyes on the prize, but it wasn't a total loss nevertheless. I walked over to my contender looking him in the eyes as I closed in, and all I could see was an ugly grinning big guy. No faces, no images, no former self…

I made my way halfway through round three trying to avoid direct contact with the champ, who had by then figured out my weakness. No different than all those who lurk in the shadows of my past he wasn't finding any shame in hitting me where it hurt most, the only difference however is that this guy was real and he was with me in a ring where I can actually fight back and inflict damage…

As the fight approached its end, I knew that it was a lost cause. Hindered by my handicap, I saw no possible come back. I was finally bleeding for a reason however, and that was my silver lining. No more wasted blood…

Another hefty punch sent me flailing across the ring, followed by another cheap shot to the back of the head. I tripped and landed on my deformed motionless arm. I heard yet another loud pop. I felt sudden relief to my right shoulder; my shoulder was somehow partially popped back. It felt like a miracle, but I felt it was about time things went my way. I got up and rotated my arm in a full 360 degrees with minor pain. I smiled at the champ…

"Thank you"

The champ wasn't able to survive his countdown; his head lay at my feet. Knocked out…

The jeers became cheers…

What happens now?

The Song: Stranger Things Have Happened – Foo Fighters

When Time Smiles: Ten Past Ten

This is the first part of a small experiment composed of two pieces. The other piece however will be posted when the time is right. So, here goes nothing…

A slight squeaking sound broke the silence in the empty room. He stopped in the center of the room and faced the only wall that had an ornament hanging on it. It was a vast room empty of any items, except for a clock hanging on one of its walls. The clock had a circular black frame surrounding a yellow background on which funny looking black numbers stood, in what looked like assumed dancing positions. A child's clock.

The clock read 8 am. Sunlight had just broken into the empty room through a small window on the wall opposing the clock He sat in patience watching the clock. He had just started watching time.

The next morning he woke up as early as he had woken up the previous day, washed up had his breakfast and made his way to the room where the clock hung. He entered, faced the clock, and started observing seconds push one another out of the day. Young at heart and age the child was angelic; an exceptionally good looking kid. He pushed his curly red hair out of his face uncovering wide innocent blue eyes that seemed to glow like sapphires. He sat with a blank stare on his freckly face, a stare that hid an aging mind, a mind that was far older than his heart. Sitting motionlessly in a wheelchair he watched the clock tick away, Every tick banging inside his head like a bomb explosion. He observed the last shattered pieces of glass on the clock, where a covering used to be. It took place a couple of nights before he started his daily routine; the clock plummeted to the floor shattering its glass covering, among other things…

It became a habit of his to spend his days in this room watching the arms do one lap after the other, and listening to the constant tick-tocking to which he became very familiar. He was never a talker, but ever since he became a time-watcher, he stopped saying anything at all. He would occasionally catch himself whispering "come on" to the clock, never really knowing why he says that, or what exactly he is requesting of the clock. Maybe he was wishing for the arms of the clock to stop, and turn in the opposite direction to a time where life hadn't yet taught him lessons he wasn't ready nor prepared for. He may have also been wishing for those tick-tocks to accelerate and bring about answers to the infinite unanswered questions his cranium holds within, to bring about a cure that might reverse the aging inflicted on his once young mind. He needed one thing he can comprehend, something he can understand...

With a worrisome eye, his mother watched him sit in the same place every day for what seemed to be an eternity, never knowing what to do. She recalls trying to hide the clock away from him, but she also recalls the consequences. She remembers standing behind the room door, hearing him sobbing heavily in the same place looking at a circular spot on the wall where the clock used to be. His mourning never stopped constantly tearing at her until she gave in and hung the clock back up, bringing back what seemed to be her child's happy self. Only interrupted by food and sleep, the child remained the same without a revelation in sight…

One morning however, the child woke up to a slight beeping sound. He opened his eyes trying to trace the source of the sound, till he saw a colorful digital watch on the desk next to his bed. He got up in a hurry, grabbed the watch and examined it. It was a blue watch themed after his favorite cartoon. He cried his mother's name out loud till she walked in the room, and gave her a big hug. The mother smiled, for she had a plan to save her son and it seemed to be working. He put the watch on; it read 7:25 am. Not much more than a half hour later, he was in the room in front of the clock synchronizing his watch to the hanging clock. Disappointed and hopeless his mother stood outside the room, watching him with tears in her eyes…

As the days passed, he seemed to get weaker and fainter. He was tearing at the seams that connected him to reality. He ate less talked less and thought more, exhaustion was playing dirty tricks on him and he was obviously losing the waiting game he initiated. One morning however, his digital watch kept beeping to no avail, for the child overslept for the first time in so long. He woke up mid-day the next day totally unaware of what happened to him and looked at his watch; it read 12:15 pm. He hurried to his clock to double check, and it read the same. Convinced that time changed only when he wasn't looking, he started spending less and less time in the room and even gave up his watch. He spent more time being a kid once again, away from the clock…

Long later as he was passing next to a now deserted room, he stopped. He decided in all curiousness to step in and see where time is now. "What time is it now?" he joked to himself. He opened the door, wheeled himself in and stopped in the center of the room, like he used to. He looked at his clock and smiled. The arms of the clock had stopped. Time didn't go back, nor did it fast forward, it simply stopped…

The clock read 10:10. Observing the arms of the clock closely his smile became wider. "It almost looks like a…" he chuckled out loud and hurried out of this room to his room. Having grabbed a black marker from a drawer in his desk, he made his way back to the clock. He stood before it for the last time. He uncapped the marker and tried to reach the watch, but it was too high. He sat there for a few minutes, thinking of what to do next. With all his might he used his arms to support him to his feet, stumbling and tripping in the process. Falling to his knees one time after the other, he almost gave up but the urge of reaching that clock kept him going. He was now crying and clawing at the wall, trying to get in a standing position.

Before he knew it, he was leaning on the wall, standing. Tears of agony become those of joy. Using the chair as support, he stood in front of the clock. Using the marker, he drew two adjacent dots above the arms of the clock.

"I guess time does stop just to smile at you" he said happily.

Leaning on the wall, he limped on his good leg out of the room where time smiles.

The Song: Here Comes the Sun – The Beatles