"Fuck!" (right jab). "Fuck!" (left jab). "Fuck!"(left knee).
On I went, punishing my body and my taped hands with the rough surface of the punching bag, while growling the one word guaranteed to get my mouth slapped if my mother was in hearing distance. A healthy dose of guilt and a little paranoia had me quickly glancing over my shoulder just to make sure she was not standing behind me. My Mom can pack a mean wallop when deserved, and I am confident that THE swear word I have been consistently using for the last while would qualify as deserved! When I was sure she was not there, I continued with my self-imposed punishment.
My name is Ricardo Carlos Manoso, street name Ranger and I am a highly trained mercenary. Basically I kill people for money. A lot of money. I sell my services to the highest bidder. I kill without emotion and with astounding efficiency. I have never felt guilt or remorse over my kills. They all deserved it. Until now. Now, I was hoping to purge the coppery smell of blood and the soft, agonized final breath of my last target from my memory.
"Fuck!" (right jab) "Fuck!" (left jab) "Fuck!"(left knee)
Finally, exhaustion overtook me and I grabbed for the bag as I slumped to my knees. My sweat slick, blood covered hands slipped down the bag and I fell face first toward the mats. I stretched my arms in front of myself to keep from face planting. Pushing myself to a kneeling position my mother's words kept running through my mind. "When life knocks you to your knees, remember you are in the perfect position to pray."
Unfortunately, today I didn't believe I deserved the solace a conversation with God would grant me. Today I deserved to meet the Devil himself. I knew if I looked in the mirror, I would see Satan's reflection.
I was suddenly overcome by the events of the last hours. I promptly leaned over and vomited the nearly nonexistent contents of my stomach onto the floor.