Cancer.
It's a curse.
It turns people's lives upside down and ruins their relationships.
Brynne Foster is a perfect example.
After being diagnosed with leukemia at age 17, Brynne's family struggles to accept her decision of refusing chemotherapy...
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Heated rage trails behind me, as I tread down the dark and mysterious pathway. Embers of anger slowly add to the fire churning in my soul, causing the dim surroundings to light with fury. My vision becomes centered on the objective of getting to my destination and avoiding all distractions. The scurrying rats scuttle away from me, almost scared of my determination.
I know what I want, and nothing will stop me.
The stench of underground moss and rusted piping flows through the cool and still air, sending an earthy feeling into my veins. The weight of the weapons on my body sinks my shoulders and pulls on my hips. My feet drag through the dirty water, and I grimace in disgust. God knows what prehistoric bacteria could be hiding in this green liquid; I think to myself. I trudge along through the murky substance.
This tunnel was built by the Italian Mafia over two hundred years ago but has not been used since. Hence the uncleanliness of the place. I guess that they built the tunnel and decided that whatever was on the other side wasn't worth risking their lives. They assumed that they would never use it again, so they closed it off with a strong metal lock. It took me a while to cut through, but eventually, I found my way into this long corridor. With nothing but a small flashlight, I immediately began walking, not wanting to waste any time. Going in alone is already a risk in itself, so being slow is not an option.
The entrance shaft is hidden in the woods near the Spanish Mafia base, concealed by tall oak trees and untamed bushes. Half an hour away from the highway lies a secret entrance to a mile-long tunnel that leads straight into the Spanish's weaponry. It's a perfect way to catch them off guard and take them over by surprise. Too bad I'm not going in with that intention.
Rigid-cut grey stones stretch for as far as I can see, causing my strides to become longer and more efficient. Despite the heaviness of my extensive weapon collection, I keep a steady pace and find rhythm in my steps. Walking with a purpose but no plan, I keep my eyes ahead of me and my head held high. I clench my fists in agony as they grow eager to have contact with flesh.
Not just any flesh,
I want to punch right through Spanish flesh. I crave the feeling of bones cracking underneath my force and the feeling of the heat that comes with smashing against a cheekbone. Making them feel a fraction of the pain I felt after finding my mother dead on the floor is the only way I will be able to move on.
It's just how it is.
I look down at my already tattered knuckles. Just a couple more punches, I tell myself.
And then you can return to Brynne.
The long walk allows me time to think about her.
Think about us.
I think about a couple of nights ago, when I woke up, finding myself in her gentle arms. I almost thought it was a dream from how heavenly she smelt and how perfect she looked. Her entire room was trashed, and I had a feeling it had something to do with me, so I cleaned it up and left. Thinking back, I should have stayed with her until she woke up to explain everything. But she wouldn't condone my need for revenge, so I decided to leave her in the dark.
