HOME | DD

Description
~A/N: Listen As You Read! www.youtube.com/watch?v=T2PAkP… ~

Beads of salty sweat dribbled down the pale contours of the mans shadowed visage, slipping past the onyx-raven locks sticking to his slicked forehead, down past his steely grey concentrated hues, and descending onto the skin of his neck. A quiet drawn-out sigh slipped past his chapped peach-colored lips decorated with an assorted amount of cuts. He ran his tongue over the textured incisions as he stooped down, grasping a bottle of water that taunted his heated form with the cool droplets of condensation dripping from its surface. He raised the jug to his lips as he ran a bruised hand through his perspiration-greased tresses, eyes glaring at the bulky crimson-dyed sack before him.

Roughly setting the bottle down to the cement floor, he re-bandaged his bloodstained knuckles, ridden with scars and fresh lacerations colored brightly with the shades of maroon. He clenched and unclenched his damaged fists, compelling himself to bring forth an animosity so powerful it contrived his heart to beat at an unnaturally fast pace just at the thought of his dominant frustration. With the itching need of his fist to make contact with something -anything- his body lurched forward in a rhythmic and methodical motion, almost elegant in a way, as his fist collided with the cumbersome flame-colored bag.

Just Beat It, Beat It, Beat It, Beat It
No One Wants To Be Defeated

His story wasn't one of victory, nor heroism. He was merely a man striving for revenge, and the thought sickened him to no end. What repulsed him even further was the fact that he continued to endeavor for the potential strength he longed for, only to prove to himself he was not weak. He was a boy who had grown up the wrong way, in the wrong streets, and made the wrong kinds of enemies. He was forever tarnished with the name of a thug, a troublemaker, only for pursuit to survive in the harsh life he was unwillingly thrown into. And he felt powerless from it. For what great and heroic man would have gone around beating the poor for a loaf of bread? Which powerful man had the blood of an innocent decorating his palms, only for a show of dominance to the ones who had challenged him? He was an outcast, weak for craving to be strong, and strong from stemming from his weakness.

With these thoughts bubbling in his frazzled mind, he landed another blow into the heavy sack, sending it off of its stable chain and onto the floor with a rather abrupt thud. Deciding the collapsed bag was a sign, he sat on the rigid and cold foldable chair, grasping the jug of water in his hand. As the cool liquid ran down his scorched and dry throat, his steely grey hues landed on a pair of wide, bright eyes giving him an expression of concern.

Showin' How Funky Strong Is Your Fight
It Doesn't Matter Who's Wrong Or Right

Of course, the only one who seemed to find anything interesting about the man was the woman who could silently understand his every emotion, despite his lack of expressing them. The fire in his eyes seem to extinguish with her very presence, and a long sigh drew from his lips, extracting all of his previous anger and hatred to his past. He was infatuated by her calm and collected composure, one that seemed to drain all the pent up rage from his energy-filled figure and transform him into a completely at peace person.

Her hesitant steps forward obligated him to stand and meet her gaze, bright hues drowning in deep wonder of the mysterious man before her that she seemed to know all and so little about. Her nimble fingers traveled to his clenched fists, taking his hand in hers as her strong and passionate gaze remained affixed onto his.

She was powerful without even trying to.

He wanted to be like her.

Slowly unraveling the strips of rose-stained white strips of bandage from his bruised and cut knuckles, she set the soiled wrappings onto the floor while doing the same to his other hand. The pads of her thumbs ran over the textured scars of his fists, her stare asking her silent question. He solemnly nodded in response, assuring her concerned state. With a bright smile, her fingers laced with his, and she pulled him from his fiery and weak past and into his cool and strong future.

Just Beat It, Beat It
Just Beat It, Beat It