Post by Princess on Aug 17, 2014 2:57:31 GMT
I return to the hotel room after yet another night of not being in the ring. The internal struggle is rising, I need to compete, to deal damage to another human being's flesh...the lust for blood is becoming too much for me to bear. The room is dark, silent, yet...something is amiss.
"Good evening....my son."
The voice is soft, cold, and accompanied by a wheeze. I fail to find the light switch fumbling in the darkness.
"Don't bother. I've removed the bulbs."
Fear, it spreads through my blood like a virus, a poison. I hear the man wheeze, and cough. He's feeble, he's old, he's not something to fear, is he? Or is he only feared because of what he represents, the things he's done, the man he was. The man I could become for being his son.
"You've grown so much, Kristoff. And I have so much to teach *cough* you. To teach, before I go."
In the darkness, I slowly feel my way to the window, not sure entirely where he is. I peel the blinds back and the light from the neon nearby illuminates, and I see his face, grizzled, covered in hair, and wrinkled. His head is nearly bald, with a few strands on top and along the sides. His beard is disheveled to a point where the gray and white mass could be that of a homeless person, and not of who I have been led to believe my father to be. He sits in a wheelchair, due to age and fragility of his bones. If, indeed, this is my father. In his eyes, his cold, blue eyes, there is a familiar glint of evil. Behind them, the brain of a sociopath.
"Who are you? Why are you here?"
"I am exactly who you need me to be. And I have so much to tell you...son."
My brain is on fire. My hand raises and shakes. I feel the rage, the violence rising within me. And I see a smile cross the old man's face. The smile widens as I coil back to swing. But I cannot bring myself to harm and invalid. I fall to my knees and weep.
"Yes...stay there, and listen to what i have to say."
"Good evening....my son."
The voice is soft, cold, and accompanied by a wheeze. I fail to find the light switch fumbling in the darkness.
"Don't bother. I've removed the bulbs."
Fear, it spreads through my blood like a virus, a poison. I hear the man wheeze, and cough. He's feeble, he's old, he's not something to fear, is he? Or is he only feared because of what he represents, the things he's done, the man he was. The man I could become for being his son.
"You've grown so much, Kristoff. And I have so much to teach *cough* you. To teach, before I go."
In the darkness, I slowly feel my way to the window, not sure entirely where he is. I peel the blinds back and the light from the neon nearby illuminates, and I see his face, grizzled, covered in hair, and wrinkled. His head is nearly bald, with a few strands on top and along the sides. His beard is disheveled to a point where the gray and white mass could be that of a homeless person, and not of who I have been led to believe my father to be. He sits in a wheelchair, due to age and fragility of his bones. If, indeed, this is my father. In his eyes, his cold, blue eyes, there is a familiar glint of evil. Behind them, the brain of a sociopath.
"Who are you? Why are you here?"
"I am exactly who you need me to be. And I have so much to tell you...son."
My brain is on fire. My hand raises and shakes. I feel the rage, the violence rising within me. And I see a smile cross the old man's face. The smile widens as I coil back to swing. But I cannot bring myself to harm and invalid. I fall to my knees and weep.
"Yes...stay there, and listen to what i have to say."