The Returning Champion

A sequel to "Tattered Heart of a boxer", this is the only thing I've really written in the past few weeks, enjoy

And here I stand again, the flurry of blows assaulting my senses, punches flying in, blinding me to nothing but the cruel laugh of pain and loneliness. My heart is gone, emptied from my fist and left as mush on the ground, mixed with the last of my hope and dreams.

 

I still get up. I don’t raise my hands, I just stand and take the blows, jab, uppercut, I don’t care anymore, I’ve given into fate, becoming it’s punching bag, round after round, the pain has numbed me, now only my innards groan like the remnants of a sunken vessel, begging for release.

Blackness.

I’m out, I see the cliff and I step forward, ready to dive and give in, the final knockout.

 

Then a single voice. It screams my name, I feel a set of eyes, piercing blue and beautiful staring at my mind and I rise.

Then I hear it again. This voice and I keep going, round after round, punch after punch, I attack and attack. Ding, ding.

I return to my corner and as I rest, once again spitting the remnants of bile away feel a set of hands, they are small and soft and filled with warmth, that voice again comes to me as I set forward.

I reach fate and just as I swing, I realise, those hands are still there, they move towards my hands and as they take off my gloves they gather the small remnants of me, the tiniest pieces and puts them together.

Thump, Thump. A heart beats again, I turn and exit the ring, the small guiding hand in my own as I step towards the exit. My fight is over. 

Reviews

[Karen Redburn]

I enjoyed this immensely. There is a hopeful note to the writing that gives it a sense of possibility. Your use of analogies --using a boxing matching-- to explain the struggles we sometimes go through in life is very well done. Keep writing my friend!