Angry (open to all who dare)

Aidan Shura-Gabriel Ferro

Clear it once more…

A moment’s silence is all that I could use to leave, to think everything over. Do I really want to be here? Do I really think that by doing this, my impulsion will be controlled? What do I have to gain from this, besides a black eye? I do not want to fight. That is the whole purpose of this: To be provoked and not do anything. What if I cannot handle the insults and give on to fighting. What then? Will my opponent be sent to the other side? Maybe it is not a good idea to keep on going. I do not want to take the life of someone. Not again.

But then, I have come this far to back down. I have never given up, nor have I ever been a coward to face something. And I am not necessarily talking about being frightened by a fight. I am talking about that entity that makes me what I do not want to be. But sometimes it is better to back away, because it is prudent, and that does not make you a coward. Then again, this is the only way to get rid of that impulse, and I know that. So I am not going to back away. I am not going to give that impulse the satisfaction; much less the person standing in front of me, I am not going to back away. But somehow it is very evident to me that I am still thinking about backing away. Because I know that if I already had made a decision, my legs would have dragged me away a long time ago, or towards the person in front of me.

Better keep my head up…

My arms slightly fall down to my side as the person in front of me puts their hands up. And while I am not sure what that means, my eyes quickly glare yet another knife, in my jacket, barely visible to myself. For sure, this means that if the person in front of me does not say something else, I might attack. Can I still play without getting burned by my own deed?

I look at the person in front of me, and a smile creeps up their face. This person wants to fight. I know it. So I smile too because it has been a long time since anyone has wanted to fight me with much determination, the key to a good fight. But I need to pass on that offer for my benefit. Or can I?

And it seems that the person in front of me has noticed my smile as well because a chuckle comes out in front of me. "Come on stranger I ain't got all night to play games. What do you want?" the person growls at me, making my eyes widen in anger and excitement to fight. I feel that rush going through my veins, the same one that made me take that knife out before. But now, I am more used to that feeling that I do not get my weapon out. Maybe coming out here is helping me control myself better. "You come looking for a fight? Cause I swear, I'll give you the hardest one of your life." the voice that must belong to a female, says, and that is all I need to make up my decision, because it is the perfect proposal.

Being selfish and sorry…

A quick look at a leaf falling through the sky, and I rush off towards my opponent. She has offered a good fight, and I plan to accept it. An error that will cost me another battle with impulsion, but it does not matter. All I want is to at least have a good fight before I permanently get rid of this entity. And while the thrill of fighting hits me, the usual smirk does not come out me. My guess as to why, is because I am still debating.

But it is the fact that I am still arguing with myself that makes me want to fight even more. It is that feeling that fuels my impulsion to fight and not think of the consequences. And while I quietly reflect on how this is not being healthy for me, I cannot stop. My mind is beginning to become clouded. Now I know that if there was ever any chance to back away, it is currently gone. Because I know that once my mind is numb and losing consciousness to say something, there is no turning back. And the last thought in my head is: Why did I ever listen to myself, knowing that my own mind creates that being that is closing the real me?

So disappointing…

In a second’s glance, my whole being pushes that anger impulse into my fist. And before I can unleash it on the opponent, my mind gently tries to open itself, by detouring through peering at a faint light on the abandoned street. But just as the mind opens, it closes, leaving nothing left to stop me from fighting. Leaving nothing but the only part of me that cannot do anything for itself, with fear of what comes next.

My fist suddenly clenches more tightly into itself and the left arm pulls itself back to mimic a power punch, that way I can quickly do it on my opponent when the punch arrives, still running. And when I finally arrive close to her, the anger goes out through the punch. My eyes quickly widen at my action, trying to stop me, but it is too late. All I do is try not to know if my punch made it into her. And to distract all the feelings rising in me from the attack, I tell her, “You guessed right.”

Aidan Shura-Gabriel Ferro

I have erased you…

Nothing, I feel absolutely nothing right now. If I ever had a conscious or a subconscious, it must be gone right now. Because all I feel is a numb anger going across me. And as a result, I vaguely search with my ears for a yelp or noise that indicates pain coming out of her, something saying that my attack did not fail. But I hear nothing except a few boards fall down, and that only makes me growl inside, giving me more anger to work with. To that, I fear inside and rejoice on the outside. My self has never been thirstier to fight, and I cannot help but to feel helpless. What would anyone think if they saw me in this desperation?

“If they saw me…” Those are the words that make me want to stop fighting, to try searching an alternative that will bid away this feeling from me. And to think about someone else’s reaction, tells me that an imminent fight between my morale and impulsion, is about to start. That it is going to try into making me stop fighting, but I am not going to stop. I know it; because I cannot remember anyone right now, only hint them. All I can picture is anger, nothing else. There is always a side that is stronger than the opposing one, and depending on the environment, it is clear that my impulsive side is going to win, sooner or later. It is just a matter of time. But in the meantime, I keep on fighting.

Losing my mind…

A cloud of breath in the cold air faintly dissipates as my millisecond’s rest is up. My fists find themselves in position for a counterattack, but none is forthcoming. What is she waiting for? I look up at her face, still breathing harder than usual, and I find her grin. She saw my punch coming. And I did not see that. The fact that she did, should make me mad, but I am feeling more excited, yet cautious than before. Although, getting that reaction is by far a worse reaction than being angry any day.

My eyes peer at the ground the same second as my fist failed to do its job, letting my clenched hands think for themselves a strategy to use against her. I have always been told that to fight, I have to use my mind. But since it is fighting a battle of its own, I have to use what is required to fight. And before I can think of something, a rush of breeze starts to move towards me.

Quickly, my eyes widen and try to deflect her strong jab, but I cannot see anything. My long hair is sitting on my face, having me guess where the hit is going to land based on where the rush of cold air is heading to. But since this is almost like fighting blindly, her attack barely creeps up to my right, giving me a taste of my own medicine without hitting me hard, just a bit which is nothing but a scare to be alert next time. And that is more than enough to oppress my mind into not getting me involved in its own fight. I have one of my own already, because now it is beginning to become personal. And I can only imagine in a spec of a second how I will beat my opponent.

Making good use of it…

Just as I flip my hair back after the slight impact, I see her face more up close, looking at something fixatedly. Wanting to know what it is, I follow her eyes and notice the knife in my jacket. So she has seen it. I quickly step aside and give her a smile that comes out like a smirk. The reason: She has just reminded me that I have many options besides punching and kicking to win the fight, even if it is not fair enough. But somehow, my mind reacts to this and forces me to not grab it. And I listen because it seems less painful than to punch. And I want to have fun.

Wait, this is not what I want. I said that it was personal but never did I say that it was fun in the way I just thought. Sure I accepted to fight for fun, but this is not the fun I want or even intended on having. My whole face scowls at the general direction in the disgust of my desire. Then, in one impulse directed at what she had seen, my face grins with mockery, and the hands quickly grab the knife from the jacket, sending it flying towards a crate, inserting itself into it. “Now, where was I?” I gently say to get her attention, because I want her to know that we will both fight fairly.

Breaking away from everything…

With another smirk, my hands brush my black hair back, and I quickly steady myself to plan on a blow. I let my muscles relax since I am far away enough from her to react if she tries to punch me or anything of that kind. And like before, I look downwards, catching my own breath in the form of a white cloud. And somehow, probably a habit, I vaguely search for my conscious. The only part still commanding my body tries to see if there is something else within me that might want to stop me. Perhaps waiting for morale to step in? But whatever might have wanted to stop me now, it is not there. Maybe all those things are busy fighting internally with my mind.

Once I am done resting for a second, my eyes peer at her and I quickly approach a few steps, with one of the hardest and most difficult punch to deflect, the uppercut. And if she deflects it, then she has just assured me a personally good fight.

Aidan Shura-Gabriel Ferro

My head is spinning…

When I was young, my mind was busy thinking about what would happen if I woke up one day without a thought or memory. It wondered how I would act as a human, one without a consciousness. Well, now I do not have to wonder about that anymore because I have no mind! I cannot care about anything or anyone; much less remember them. All I feel is that presence, controlling me. And it feels in a way strange, because I know that I have no mind, which means I cannot think. But then again, I have the ability to know things which could be considered as a type of thinking, right? And if I do know, then it means moral is in my head because those “thoughts” are not impulsive. Or are they?

On one side, there is a part of me saying that if I cannot think, I should just let the impulsion overcome me; that in fact I am controlled by it. The other, is convincing me that I am thinking, therefore saying that I am being controlled by moral, not impulse. But, I am not sure what to think. Voices are coming through my feelings and I am not sure what to make out of them. Am I crazy? I must be, because only a crazy person would think that they have no mind and that there is a battle going up in their head, in addition to putting names to the different sides of their personality.

But then again, I if were crazy, I would not admit that I am crazy, because someone like that would not admit it. I want to stop this fight because that would be for the best, but I want to fight because I love it and need it. But, what I truly need is to let someone decide for me. No, I do not need someone to do that because they would just pull me out of the fight, which in fact is the thing I do not want.

I have tried but nothing works…

My eyes stare at the trajectory my attack took, trying to see how much damage I have caused. And before I can find out if the blow went well, my whole body savors the moment I can hear a sound of pain come out. My lips even open to quietly laugh. But that is when I notice that she managed the attack well, without a sound; saying the attack was a mere bluff. And that of course, is enough to get me growling once more on the inside, thinking that either this is not my day, or she is a great fighter, which only means I am going to have to try better. And that is an idea I like.

"That the best you can do sunshine?” she says superiorly, making me come back to the match. I am almost enjoying this fight in its entirety. Never have I fought with someone who could easily block or take my attacks so well. And I would believe that this could get me mad, but somehow knowing what the intention of the phrase was, only makes me thirstier to fight, but mostly because maybe it is time to take the fight to a whole different level.

I cannot give it up…

Quickly, my hands and legs take a stance. It is her turn to attack and we both know it. So, carefully enough, I take a look at her to guess what is on her mind. But the lighting is not helping me at all. And if I was smart enough, I would change direction to find out what she is up to. Although, if my legs move to another area from where it is already at, she might want to hit me while unprepared, busy changing position and location. No, I am not going to do that. She seems way too intelligent and would plant a hit on me the moment I move. But is that not what life is about? Is life not about taking risks?

I only look down and swing the hair away from my face, revealing a smirk. I am just going to let my instinct guide me on this one. Forget logic, well maybe not logic in its entirety, but at least to act randomly on this one more than anything, because from what I have learned up in my head, I am not a fast decision taker.

My eyes close for a second, trying to let my own body decide what it wants to do, to either move or not move. It is true that when one takes a risk, a thought has to follow it. In cases like mine, when the head is not working well, I rely on the thing that lets me fight in the first place, my arms and legs.

Without taking notice of the injured leg, my whole being shifts away from the area located. And in that instant, it becomes easy prey for a blow. It leaves the area where it was guaranteed at least a bit of safety, to total desolation. That is when I feel it, an instant rush of annoyance and warmth crossing my left leg, again. Did it actually start to get swollen in mid-fight? Am I actually trying very little in fighting that my body cooled off? No, she hit me again.

I will not stop or say that I have had enough…

My inside begins to shout like I have never done in my life. I actually feel pain, in its whole. And it feels twice as paralyzing as before. It feels more when I look at my leg, bleeding, barely from the hit. And thinking that I would somehow be alarmed at seeing it like that, I only press the affected wound tightly, sending a feeling of a giant pin being stuck in the leg.

Suddenly, I find myself laughing, at what? I am not sure. But as I press my leg more tightly to earn more courage into fighting, I laugh even more, although, it sounds more like a laugh of pain mixed with anger and joy. And thinking that this may make me look weak, I stop laughing and smirk, lifting my head up, “You know we can both do better than that.” This is my way to the perfect proposal, signaling that our fight is going to the next level.

Ignoring the pain, I run without thinking about anything else than the mere feeling of seeing that one of my famous hits make its way to her. And as I run a not so far distance, my arms get an extra rush of blood in addition to the annoyance from my injured leg, making my punch go with a good force, hitting a surface that I could only hope it is her.