Thud, thud, thud.
Nothing makes me feel more at peace than this sound.
Thud, thud, thud.
The sound of fists against leather.
Thud, thud, thud, thud.
The resistance given by the grains of sand filling the bag, making it heavy, demanding I put force behind my blows.
Thud, thud...and then a creak. A long, sharp, irritating creak. The sound of an unwelcome guest, here to disturb my peace.
Sweat running across my body, I slowly turned my head in the direction of the creak. I see a tall, lean pretty-boy. The kind who cares more how his hair looks than how his attitudes comes across.
"What do you want?"
He didn't reply at first, just flicked the light switch, suddenly filling the room with blinding light, I hated it. I hated him. What gave him the audacity to come into this club after hours just to bother me?
"What do yo-"
"I heard you the first time." He interrupted, which that stupid, posh accent of his. All of his words carefully enunciated. I wanted to throttle him.
"Then answer or get out"
"Why should I? I thought this was the building for our little boxing club, or am I wrong?"
I just rolled my eyes. If he wanted to play games I'd have no part in them.
He loudly cleared his throat, as if I had suddenly forgotten his horrid presence.
"I came because I wanted to challenge you to a fight"
"Why?"
We both knew I wasn't the best fighter, I had almost zero technique. I ran off pure instinct and stubbornness to get through a fight.
"Because you're earning a reputation for never staying down, I want to put an end to it"
"I don't care."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I won't fight you for something so petty, leave me be."
With that he just left, not a word more, just walked out. I went back to taking my anger out on the bag.
Thud, thud, THUD, THUD, SNAP.
Guess the supports needed fixing...
I arrived home to the sounds of sobbing. A regular Friday night, I always stayed after hours on a Friday. I walked into the kitchen to find broken plates and furniture all over the floor. The room looked like a pissed off bull had just passed through, destroying everything in it's path. My mother, who was the source of the sobbing, was curled up in a ball on the floor, amongst the destruction. Her arms were sliced up, small streams of crimson blood flowing down them, and her face was bruised different shades of purple. This was not the first time this had happened, and the culprit, my step-father, was not the first man to do it, nor even the second or third. He was one of many. We exchanged no words, I just sat next to her and held her in my arms in silence. A silence which said many things. None of them good.
I woke with a start as I heard the front door slam. I must have fallen asleep, my mother was still in my arms asleep, meaning that he had came home. I do not remember his name, nor do I remember his face, maybe I choose not to, but I can't get the pain out of my mind and those words which come with it.
"What? You think you're better than me?"
I did or said nothing to provoke this, yet still it always happened. Afterwards, I was bloody and bruised, everything was sore. Mother was crying again, yet did nothing. I was angry...I wanted to destroy something beautiful...
So I waited until it was time, then I went to the club, punctual for the first time ever, and approached that annoying pretty-boy from the night before.
"I've changed my mind."
He looked surprised.
"Well, I don't want to fight a man who's already been beaten down" He grinned "Dear old daddy angry again"
Everyone knew, even if I cleaned up my face, I couldn't hide the bruises and black eyes.
"It doesn't matter. You, me, now. Understand?" I wouldn't accept "no" as an answer, I wanted to destroy something beautiful.
So he had no choice but to humour me. We stood in our corners, dressed in our gear, gloves on our hands, head gear on, gum shields in. The works. Every precaution taken to make this old blood sport safe. That didn't matter, I was intent on what I was going to do and I was sure as hell going to do it. I was going to ruin that face of his. Destroy it, make him feel pain at least close to how I felt. That was all I wanted at that moment, and I got so much more. We approached each other slowly, he looked worried, like he could see the intent on my face. He went to bump his gloves against mine, a show of good sportsmanship, a gesture I did not return. He shared a glance of concern with the coach who must have seen nothing wrong with it at the time, just that I had no respect, he probably planned on disciplining me later. We were sent back to our corners and after a few moments the match begun.
He approached me slowly as I closed in on him. He made the first move, jabbing for my ribs, which I easily blocked, yet he followed it up with a jab to my head which dazed me. He landed a few hits to my chest whilst I tried to make the world stop spinning landed a hit straight to his head, knocking him sideways. He stayed on his feet but I closed in quickly, angry and intent on seriously hurting him, one punch after another to his ribs until I heard them crack underneath the force of practically aggressive blow. He pushed me away, and for a second I thought he was going to call off the fight, but he came straight for me. I guess it was about pride, or something equally stupid. He should have walked away. This time I aimed for his head, particularly his face, every punch had the force I could put into it and all my anger behind it, by the end he was on the floor. his face was bloodied and his nose was broken, missing several teeth, but that wasn't it. It was obvious from where I was standing, his chest wasn't moving and his eyes were vacant. The onlookers and the couch didn't want to believe it until a paramedic finally came and confirmed that he had drew his last breath and that his heart had stopped.
He was dead.
I had destroyed something beautiful
