Dominion

Chapter Eight: The Only Escape

Chapter Eight: The Only Escape

"Ya really don't wanna know, kid."

I threw my fist into the punching bag, all the anger and loss I had felt in the past month the strength behind it. My sister, my parents, everyone I had ever known dominated those emotions. Because they were all gone.

Paxer loomed over the other side of the punching bag, holding it in place. I had asked him how he lost his family. Maybe a question I shouldn't have asked, but it had been eating away at me. It was possible part of me just wanted to know I wasn't the only person who had felt the way I had for the past month.

And that was angry. I hadn't been sad or lonely or in denial. I had just been angry. Angry at my family for dying. Or angry at myself for living. I didn't know. All I knew was what I felt.

Anger.

"I think I do." I replied, breathlessly, hurling another punch. But Paxer caught my fist in his own before it reached the bag.

"I told ya to use your anger. Not let it use you." He said, and released my fist.

"What's the difference?" I demanded, and he smirked.

"The difference is life and death, kid." He replied. "Control is key. If you ain't able to control yourself, your dead." He put bluntly, and turned around so he was facing the window. Nothing but the blackness of day beyond.

"So how do I control myself, then?" I asked, frustrated. Missing his point entirely.

"When you're in a fight, don't get angry." He replied. "When ya get angry, you get careless. Let your anger fuel you. But don't let it drive you." He explained.

"That doesn't answer the question." I said, and he turned back toward me.

"There ain't no how, kid. You just do it. Focus on your breathing, on staying calm. The rest will take care a itself." He explained, and grabbed hold of the punching bag again. I reluctantly nodded and readied myself. One leg in front of the other, both my fists at stomach height - a good area to strike at my opponent's lower or upper body. And I focused on my breathing.

One fist hit the punching bag, the impact rippling the anger away from fist. And into what would've been my opponent in a real fight.

"Not bad, kid." Paxer said. "Again, with your other fist. Ain't gonna do you much good with only one good punchin' arm." He added, and my other fist collided with the bag. And I felt calmer, more in control. But it would be years before I could fully control my anger instead of letting it control me.

And I kept punching, one arm after the other, coinciding with my drawn out breathes. Until Paxer finally spoke up again.

"I didn't lose my family, kid." He said, drawing my eyes back toward him. "I sacrificed them." He added, and no words found their way out of my mouth. Paxer let go of the punching bag and retreated a few steps away, his eyes going to another time as he spoke.

"There was a time where I more openly fought The Dominion..." He started, and paused, sighing. And then he turned back toward me. "But I learned the hard way I couldn't win. And my family and friends paid the price for what I'd done." He explained, emotions he rarely had on display showing prominence in his voice. "Wanna know why? Because I was angry. Angry like you are now. Like you always will be. And I let it control me. And it cost me what little I had. The only comfort I had was in an old saying." He finished.

"What saying?" I asked, after a moment.

"Things were worse back then, Gregor, hard as that might be for ya to imagine." He replied. "The Dominion was still new to us, still...molding us, to be theirs. And there was no escape for anyone, save maybe one." He said.