Not everyone is born strong,
Some are soft like the cotton candy clouds, like the first rays before dawn.
Some are unaware of the dark thoughts and the cruelty that exists.
Like an enchanting pearl in an oyster..protected.
There comes a day they re...
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Alistair: Etymology -the commander of arch-demons from the pits of hell
OR
The Defendor
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"He has a heart like cold, frost ice...but a single touch from the warmth of your soul can melt it"
September 2012
A orphan was standing admist of one of the most rugged areas of town. His father died due to an accident last month, mother followed closely behind due to her serious injuries of brain.
He had mourned till his throat was dry, heart prickling with the whirlpool of agony as he sat numb for days....but for how long.
He had a younger brother to feed. A house to run, a world to build. Earlier he had never taken a look, all smiles and passion to follow for boxing...it was a drug for him.
Thirty seven championships were at his name making him confident and giving him money, more than enough to keep it all together, all from fighting but today was the day he realized he had nothing and it was a childplay that he did in the name of fist fight.
The stadium was empty, not a single soul present in the arena. Artificial lights shone like diamond crystals in the air as the steel podium stood in calm silence.
Caramel irises like two precious zircon gems encrusted on a poison dipped arrow were closed in heavy concentration, his brows drawn in determination.
Iron fists shaking from a fight he just fought stopping their tremors but the blood dripping from knuckles continued to flow freely, dribbling like drops of red pearls ready to burn the velvety ground with his temper.
He lost.
Not by a punch neither by a kick...he lost because he wasn't given a single opportunity to attack by his opponent..he lost because he thought his love for boxing would miraculously make him win.
