Sierra

The End Of Me?

As I wander in the dark, I can't feel. Just watch and listen. I walk and walk through the darkness. I guess this the end of me.

Slowly everything around me dissolves into pure light. Then colors. They slowly form images around me. This feels very familiar. As more colors swirl around, finding their spots, I slowly start to recognize the scene.

I'm at a bus stop. No, I'm walking away from it. I'm coming home. I start hearing footsteps behind me, and instinctively walk faster towards my house. I think I was about eleven, maybe twelve. I remember I was really paranoid around that time. I was still living at the orphanage. I lived in a small town and nobody was really there for me.

Whoever was behind me sped up as well, and that's when I ran. I took a quick glance back to see who I was running from. It was some guy with sagged pants, a cap on his head, turned back words, and a bat. Thank goodness I ran.

I had always been a fast runner. Before I taught myself to fight, I "solved" my problems by running. If anybody insulted me, I just sprinted and made sure they didn't follow.

As the flashback ended, I was brought to another one. The strips of color re-arranged themselves into a new setting. I was fourteen or fifteen now, and I was at a gym. I always loved looking older than I was, and people being surprised when I told them. I had tape all over my hands as I punched the punching bag with all the strength I could muster. I also kicked and practiced ducking. Soon, one of the guys who came to the gym quite a bit who had been at the punching bag next to me asked if I could spar with him. He looked young though, probably still in collage.

I agreed. One of the men who worked here, who I had become good friends with, liked this guy and they talked a lot, so I trusted him, I guess. Plus, by that time I had been fighting for two or three years, and took boxing and two types of karate classes. I think I knew what I was doing.

I put the elastic over my wrists and against my shins and knees and the boy punched and kicked into the cushions. I took in the blows. He hit fairly hard, but his stance was off, and I hit harder.

After a little while, we switched. I hit harder and faster than he did, surprising him a bit. As I hid a smile, I kept hitting. Honesty, he looked more tired than me when we stopped and sat by the bench. "What's your name?" I asked. "Andrew." "Sierra." " You're good, where did you learn that?" I just shrugged."hey...um..how old are you, if you don't mind me asking?" "15" the look of shock on his face was priceless. "Really? wow, your good." "hah, thanks. I'll be going" I said, picking up my duffel back and walking out of the gym.

Suddenly the colors faded back into darkness.

What was going on?