Post by Deleted on Oct 14, 2017 23:55:47 GMT
The forests of southern Ontario are thick, especially near the lake that bears the province's name. When night falls the darkness within them is so thick it looks as if the world has passed away into nothingness. For those brave enough to embrace the wilderness night a fire is not a quaint luxury but a vital necessity. James Edwards is one such man. However, before he can build a fire, he has to shovel the old ashes out of the pit.
"I don't put much stock in rumors, but sometimes one gets to me from the grapevine that makes me think--too hard usually. It happened earlier today. From what I understand, Anna Matthews seems to hold sway with the idea that I'm crumbling under the weight of my past."
James reaches ahead with a short shovel with a thin blade and hauls up a pile of ash. He dumps it in a hole close by; his poor posture catches up with him, and he strains his back.
"Son of a bitch!"
The curse echoes and startles some wildlife.
"The only strain I'm under is from this damn shoveling."
He drops the tool and spits on his hands to clear away the soot.
"If Anna is putting any weight into those rumors she is in a for a helluva awakening in Thunder Bay."
He takes a knee next to the hole and dips his fingers into the ash.
"I learned a long time ago you can't run or bury your past, because even when the flames of hatred burn out the ashes of memory remain. You can wash the black off your hands, and you can shovel the pit clean, but the past will still stain your present."
He gentle coats the rest of his hands in ash until they wear a cloak of blackish-gray.
"I don't think that is necessarily a bad thing. Reminders, even painful ones, can be a blessing. This year I was fortunate enough to lose two of the most significant fights of my Lion's Road career in consecutive weeks. I bombed out in my return matches over the summer. I watched the best of us fighters kill every ounce of virtue in his body. That same bastard cost me a championship in Japan."
James smirks and picks his shovel back up with his work commencing once again soon after that.
"It fuckin' sucked, all of it, but I have no problem cleaning it all up. That process taught me one thing: don't run. I'm back in the Pollo family of companies. I'm standing my fuckin' ground against my doubters, even when the pain causes me to buckle and doubt myself. I push on through it all, and I do it to prove to myself and everyone around me that I'm still one of the best fighters not only in North America but the world.
My past hasn't crushed me. It is a part of me, just like the viciousness it fuels. Every punch I throw. is the sting of frustration. Every kick is the rain agony of betrayal. Every Violent Gospel is another nail in the coffin of my self-doubt.
Anna Matthews can believe the bullshit. She can get overconfident. She can doubt me like the rest, but she is gonna wish they were true because the reality is a lot scarier: instead of my past breaking me, I'm gonna break her."
"I don't put much stock in rumors, but sometimes one gets to me from the grapevine that makes me think--too hard usually. It happened earlier today. From what I understand, Anna Matthews seems to hold sway with the idea that I'm crumbling under the weight of my past."
James reaches ahead with a short shovel with a thin blade and hauls up a pile of ash. He dumps it in a hole close by; his poor posture catches up with him, and he strains his back.
"Son of a bitch!"
The curse echoes and startles some wildlife.
"The only strain I'm under is from this damn shoveling."
He drops the tool and spits on his hands to clear away the soot.
"If Anna is putting any weight into those rumors she is in a for a helluva awakening in Thunder Bay."
He takes a knee next to the hole and dips his fingers into the ash.
"I learned a long time ago you can't run or bury your past, because even when the flames of hatred burn out the ashes of memory remain. You can wash the black off your hands, and you can shovel the pit clean, but the past will still stain your present."
He gentle coats the rest of his hands in ash until they wear a cloak of blackish-gray.
"I don't think that is necessarily a bad thing. Reminders, even painful ones, can be a blessing. This year I was fortunate enough to lose two of the most significant fights of my Lion's Road career in consecutive weeks. I bombed out in my return matches over the summer. I watched the best of us fighters kill every ounce of virtue in his body. That same bastard cost me a championship in Japan."
James smirks and picks his shovel back up with his work commencing once again soon after that.
"It fuckin' sucked, all of it, but I have no problem cleaning it all up. That process taught me one thing: don't run. I'm back in the Pollo family of companies. I'm standing my fuckin' ground against my doubters, even when the pain causes me to buckle and doubt myself. I push on through it all, and I do it to prove to myself and everyone around me that I'm still one of the best fighters not only in North America but the world.
My past hasn't crushed me. It is a part of me, just like the viciousness it fuels. Every punch I throw. is the sting of frustration. Every kick is the rain agony of betrayal. Every Violent Gospel is another nail in the coffin of my self-doubt.
Anna Matthews can believe the bullshit. She can get overconfident. She can doubt me like the rest, but she is gonna wish they were true because the reality is a lot scarier: instead of my past breaking me, I'm gonna break her."