Gifts

by Ethan Marsh

I hit one log with my fist. The pain is not as much as I had expected. It swings back to one wall, then comes back even faster than I hit it. It slams at me hard in the stomach. I fall to the ground.

  I groan, but get back up, urging to try again. My stomach is in lots of pain, but I must continue. I hit the log again, and this time when it comes at me, I duck under it, diving on the gravel. The gravel scrapes against my leg, which bleeds horribly. I scramble to my feet to get back up, and when I do, the log hits me smack in the face, forcing me to slam onto my back.

  I lay on the ground for awhile, then I realize that the same thing will happen unless I use something. Something that no other human has, I think.

  The adrenalin.

  I sit on the ground, “Indian style”, meditating, as I was earlier, except in more pain. I feel the pain, but it doesn't hurt at all.

  My location is the top middle side of the room, so I can focus on both of the tied up logs. All of my focus is on the logs.

  In hindsight, somebody could right now sneak up behind me and I would never notice. I watch the shape of the logs, as I flashback to the moment where they had hit me. The pain. The cuts.

  I watch the logs as they swing back and forth.

  Back and forth. Back and forth. Across my being.

  I stand up, to try again with the logs. Not only will I try, but I will succeed.

  I ball my fists and face the log. My right fist launches forward as if an isolated rocket ship, shooting toward destiny. The pain in my hand is not as bad as it was the time before, since I knew what was coming.

  I see it move back to the wall in front , then I focus on it and as it is coming back to me, I bring my hand out in front of me, and defend myself from the swinging projectile.

  My hands aren't as strong as I would like to be, I look down at them and they look like they could start to bleed at any minute, they sting, and look more red than they have ever been. They look like they are bleeding, but they are as dry as ever before. I hit the log again, and the same thing happens, I hit it hard with my hand, with a tear coming from my eyes. I am not sad, yet in so much physical pain that it can't be explained. I know right away that I made a mistake hitting it as hard as I can. It comes back to me in high speeds, but I see it moving in slow motion. I see it flying towards me. The action of bringing my foot up against the log doesn't come until the projectile is at less than two or three inches away from me.

  Most of my life, I have walked bare foot everywhere(including the time ever since I woke up on the bed in that building,) so the impact of the log hitting my foot was not nearly as bad as the log hitting my hands. My foot slams into it at an angle, so it swings to the right and smashes into the other log.

  Both logs come at me with speed. The motion of slowness does not come this time, yet the logs seem to be coming faster at me than I hit it. I drop to the floor and dodge both of the logs. I did not want to be whacked on any part of my body. I don't want to stand up, but my feet push me up from the concrete, forcing me to continue. Forcing the excitement to grow larger.

  I obey my feet and continue the method of hitting and blocking until I can barely move. The pain is so excruciating, it was as if all of my bones had been twisted at one-hundred and eighty degrees. I look down and see that my hands bleed from the wood, as well as many splinters are launched into my skin. I can sense that the sun has gone down. It is a feeling of cold, sadness.

  My bloody hands rest on my knees, as I pant until I realize that I need to do something. I need to sleep. The only reason that I haven't yet is because I remember the horror that happened last time I fell asleep. I know that it is not real, but everything seems like it is projected into reality. I shudder at the thought of the nightmare.

  I have to be strong though. I slowly lay down on the cold concrete floor, all of my muscles creaking, like an old rocking chair that was once in my hut. I just have to close my eyes, and go to sleep.

  This action troubles me. I can not think of the unbearable pain that happened to be in the lucid dream that I was experiencing the night before.

  I force my eyes shut so hard that after about a minute, I start to see different patterns and different colors, green ,blue, orange, checkerboard, stripes, and other things that cannot be explained.

  I relax my eyes once it gets too intense.

  And I fall asleep.

  XXII