Fight Fight

         (Mature Ambitious Responsible Confident Understanding Strong) had already been lying for almost an hour, staring endlessly up at his ceiling fan. It was 5:45 and Marcus rolled from dreariness to awake. Despite the countless years of the same routine, the early mournings never got easier. The shades of his window were drawn making the room and his life seem unnaturally dark. The hard wood floors of his room were barely visible, not because of the darkness but because they were completely covered in clothes; the state of which was questionable at best.

         Much like Marcus’s career, the bathroom light flickered to life with a few short bursts and then full on brightness. His knuckles were scraped raw by the flesh of the bag the previous weeks. His heart however, no matter how much he tried to cover it up it was always left with scars. At least he knew that the scars on his knuckles were controllable, he knew why it happened.

With a punch
He was set free
As if he had wing
To fly to the top

The picture that was nestled in to the corner of his cracked reflection was of his mother and sister. Marcus had taken the picture for a memory when he traveled. It was never meant to be all that he would have left when he returned.

Only to be dropped
From heights too high

Twice he stood dressed in black looking down at the holes in the ground mirroring the holes in his heart. The deaths of his mother (Loneliness Emptiness Unkind Killer Eulogy Mourning Irate Abrupt) and sister (Calamity Ripped-Apart Sorrow Heartbroken) were year apart but combined left scars on Marcus’s worse then any on his skin. Hit after hit, Fist after wrapped fist, it was the sweat he expected. He perhaps even looked forward to the blood but no one told him about the tears.

Fist by Fist
Bone by b r o k e n bone
To grow up
Is to be b r o k e n
down

         Fighting was fluent to Marcus, spoken like a second language. It is something that he could use to express his passion and aggression in a single moment; the only tool that Marcus truly knew how to use (Ferocity Instinct Strength Tenacity). What happened in the ring around him was his own creation; Marcus once again realized this.
First as his mother’s
(Joyful
Unique
Loving
Independent
Eloquent)
health declined, so did his performance. Only months later, after his sister’s accident (Energetic Virtuous Artistic) Marcus’s training came to a screeching halt.

         Today he had run for almost two miles, and now more than five years. This time would be different. His hopes of connecting his anger, frustration, pain with his opponents jaw would come true. The crowd roars would be his music and the beat of his own heart his war drum. The cage within would break and Marcus himself becomes a spectator to the carnage. The gradual breaking of his opponent’s body, the gut wrenching sound of bone breaking. The victory would be his, not only in gold but the resurrection of his spirit.