by A. C. Heller
Maddix
My back slams into the padded floor for the third time in a row and all I can think is this son of a bitch don't know how to fight fair. Climbin' to my feet I bounce twice to get the spring back in my step and catch him off guard with a round house kick to the side of his face.
“Score! One for me,” I call.
“One to three,” Angelo retorts.
What-the-fuck-ever.
Droppin' low to the floor I sweep my leg out and take him off his feet. His back hits the padded floor just as mine did three times before and I can't resist the urge.
“In your fuckin' face! Yeah!”
I know better. If this was a real fight and not just trainin', I'd have kept my mouth shut. But there's somethin' about this dude that makes me want to rub it in. Still, I shoulda' been payin' attention.
“Not such a bad ass now are....”
Before I can even finish, Angelo’s shoulder slams into my abdomen and we both hit the ground. He knocked the wind outta' me and his body still has me pinned to the floor. I ball up both of my fists and punch him once in the jaw. His jaw is like a fuckin' rock and my hand is throbbin' when he grabs my wrist and pins it to the mat above my head. He lifts his body off of mine and I suck in precious air just as I realize he's goin' for my other wrist. While his big muscular body is lifted above mine tryin' to grab my flailin' arm, I pull my legs up and wrap them around his neck. It's a very awkward position, but he knocked the wind outta' me, it's only fair that I cut off his air supply. I lock my thighs around his neck and he releases my wrist. With a jerk of my legs, I send him rollin' over to his back.
I'm cuttin' off his air supply and his body starts shakin'. What the fuck? This crazy bastard is laughin'? Really? I loosen my grip just enough for him to be able to take a breath and when he does the fucker is still laughin'.
“What the fuck is so funny?”
No bullshit. His eyes move to my crotch then back to my face.
“If you wanted me under you all you had to do was ask.”
In less than a second I'm on my feet and walkin' towards the door. I don't blush, ever. But fuck me. Right now I am.
I fuckin' hate that guy.
Angelo
Grinning shamelessly to myself, I stay laid out on the mat. There's somethin' about that chick that makes it fun to piss her off. She's got this fire inside her unlike anything I've ever seen. And it's fuckin' hot. The memory of her thighs around my neck is turnin' me on so I quickly dismiss the thoughts. Football usually does the trick.
Bet she'd look hot in one of my jerseys.
Son of a bitch!
Epilogue
Burdened by his own thoughts, the viewer takes a seat in his throne style sitting chair. The irony is not lost to him that he lives as a king when he is no more than a man. Shifting to a blank page in his journal he sits back in his chair and tries to calm his mind. Tapping the pen several times against the page, he takes a deep breath and focuses on his task.
July 2013
A chance encounter was all I intended on giving them, but as time passed their paths repeatedly shifted. This is so rare that I found myself watching them far closer than I ever have. The blue-eyed female called to me. Not her beauty, even though it was undeniable; but her struggle. Her inner turmoil was so great that I simply could not comprehend what it was that kept her holding on. How does one inspire hope in the hopeless?
Their paths were never meant to cross. For this reason I should have prepared myself for their paths to be permanently altered. I did not. Once it became clear that they would both die, I knew I would have to intervene again. The visions I experience have become a rare occurrence, but when they pass I have to act on them. I do not question where these visions come from. It is not my place. I merely do what I feel is right. And so I did.
The beauty of chance is that it is not controlled by the bonds of fate. There is no structure, no preconceived notions. What will be, will be. This is something I understand fully now. A raven haired, blue-eyed epiphany. What was most curious was the amount of her inner turmoil that I could relate to.
My involvement with The Order is miniscule at best, so it was no surprise that it came as a shock when I drove the vehicle that brought the raven-haired Dora to the compound. Ordinarily I would never even consider this. However this was for good reason. I needed to know this female’s path, so I set about learning it. Her path was bleak and her time on this earth short. Had I not interfered, The Sapient would have murdered her because of her defiance. Granted, I did not know this when I made the decision to alter her path, but nevertheless I saved her life. This is something she will never know.
It has been quite a long time since I have had to battle Fate so fiercely to result in the necessary outcome. The deranged Elioud Al made it very easy for me to manipulate the situation. Considering he had not returned the mechanical crane, I was able to position it to give them a few moments of extra time.
It was after watching this unfold that I realized young Dora’s intentions. The very concept of her sacrifice caused an ache in my chest that I have not felt since my youth. As noble as her actions were, I could not let the raven-haired martyr to fall.
Once the chamber was positioned perfectly, I waited for the predetermined malfunction. The mechanical crane was old and worn, thus resulting in mechanical failures. This I was prepared for. Dora controlled the situation very well, positioning the members of The Order exactly where they needed to be. This is when I jumped down through the gaping hole in the roof, landing on top of the suspended chamber. There was so doubt my landing could be heard, but I was focused on the task at hand. A mere flick of my wrist sent the chamber plummeting to the floor.
The raven-haired martyr had already pivoted towards the awaiting mob by the time I came to rest at the edge of the chamber’s roof. Her thoughts were clear; she believed these men were so terrified of her abilities that they were backing away. This wasn’t entirely false. They were afraid and with good reason. What she will never know is that I allowed them to see me. The Sapient are quite aware of my existence and only a minute portion of my abilities. In this case, the devil they know is far better than the devil you do not know.
As her pestilence rained down upon them, I took my leave. The raven-haired beauty would be injured, but her wounds would not be life threatening. This, I would allow. There must always be balance. You do not step in front of a firing squad and leave completely unscathed.
It’s truly baffling. After all of the hardships that she had endured, not once did she consider taking her own life. Yet, when the lives of those she cared about were disrupted she sought to remedy that; even if it meant jeopardizing herself in the process.
In the eyes of certain religions, it is considered the ultimate sin to take your own life. This has always left me with many unanswered questions. How is stepping in front of a hail of bullets and knowing you're sacrificing your own life not considered suicide? And if it is, who has the right to say that their sacrifice was wrong?
Do we truly live in a world that is so tainted, so unjust, that we can no longer see gray? That our every waking moment is defined by deities? How can we sit back and see another soul on their death bed and not grant them their request to end their suffering? Are we that far gone?
Who are we to cast that judgment? Who are we to deny them? In the end it was her choice to make. Not the ultimate sin, but the ultimate decision; one decision that not many would ever consider making. It was her life to sacrifice and her life to take. If she believed in her heart that she was doing the right thing, then no one has the right to tell her she is wrong.
It has been many, many years since I've genuinely wanted something for another mortal soul. Yet here I am, wanting nothing more than to see the blue-eyed female flourish.
More often than not, the chances that are presented to us go unnoticed. Their lessons left unlearned. The most common occurrence is love. Many guard their hearts out of fear that they will be broken, but wha
t is learned by denying one’s self? Chance is a miracle. Not an act of God, but a genuinely unexplainable opportunity that can surpass the bonds of one’s fate potentially altering the outcome.
“Chance knows not of the divine, nor the strands of fate. It is but a ripple in our precarious existence, easily overseen, seldom noticed.”
-Damiano
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The Sacrifice Series
Fate – Volume One - 8-9-2013
Chance – Volume Two – 11-15-2013
Will – Volume Three – Coming Soon – Early 2014