The Distance
Author's note: Hi there, my name is…you guessed it FoxBurrow. You may not know me but I urge you to at least try, I'm always open to meet new people.
Anyways this is my first KFP Story.
Synopsis: A young boxer travels to China and meets the Furious Five, Master Shifu and the Dragon Warrior. They teach him that there's much more to fighting than for just yourself.
From the throngs bellowed a great roar of veneration, of entertainment and fervor-it shook the stone walls of the coliseum and empowered the competitors. He inhaled sharply closing his eyes allowing imagination to carry him away, to a place not too far from his position but during a time when modesty and contentment were.
He heard the hooves of the horse collide against the naked earth, a knocking gallop that echoed off the surrounding structures.
The steed's ebony gloss fur gleaming under the auburn autumn sun as she passed by he watched from the corner of the walkway. Someday he thought, someday soon he'd catch her and possess all her beauty, power and wildness for himself.
Mercedes was her name, born in mustang descendant and untamed like the western African winds that ruled over these plains.
She'd always be with him, no matter where he went-a piece of bourn and inspiration stayed with him. Because though he never had worked up the courage those many evenings watching her pass he adored her for what she was, a passion that gave him want, craving for glory to match her elegance.
Maybe then she'd pass wanting eyes of bronzed over him, but when she moved so did the stimulus.
Now it was just instinct a fight for survival and craze for magnificence because "All of us were born normality, some chose royalty…but few made their glory." his parents rest in peace, it was here he grew up in the humble abode and humility of a stone masonry.
In the bosom mortar and sand-suckling on the teat of a widowed cheetah, it was "Okay to want more." she told him "I know you can alter our set course." a confident smile bent his lips like an arrow drawn back in a bow.
He felt an unparallel gratification, but with this also came pain-he mourned her loss and often fantasized about what she'd say or think if only she had seen him now and what he had done. His senses returned to him and an overpowering tumult prompted goose bumps that ran up and down his forearms.
The sweat of his brow stung his eyelids and his eyes, his eyes felt like bursting out of their sockets.
He clinched his fists so tight it hurt, out of his swollen cheeks he snuck a gaze over at his opponent. A mixture of sweat and blood poured down his back and soaked his fur but also dripped off his forehead.
His aquatic blue eyes concentrated, his body cried out in a voiceless petition to stop but being practiced those many times before refused to quit.
He silenced the cry for rest and instead accepted the agony for what it was knowing it would pass. In the middle of the ring they'd meet to spar, everything that followed was clockwork, a piloting mode.
Now his mind was moving faster than his body and saw the shots being hurled at him but was too fatigued to evade them.
It hit him like a sandbar hitting a boat-faint and distant, it shook him in silence for the ringing in his ears was much too great for cheers and haws or for pain. Who would win? Victory's seal would stamp on who's letter? The answer lay here in the achy palm of their sweaty hands and inside their hearts.
Brown eyes darker than tanned leather, remembered is mind rehearsed them. He remembered that sour scowl, a look of pure abhorrence from him. Anger raged deep within him, stirring the blood in his veins pushing it to a fro like a powerful river.
How dare he disgrace his mother's memory and smother his father's name in dishonor, he knew nothing about them nor himself. Who was he to call down his family, utter sayings about us in feebleness? Strong's forehead tensed, and he looked on tapering his eyes.
He'd pay for his words in this defeat.
The muscles lacing his arm like strands of string wrapped around a rope tired and hardened like copper wire and responded accordingly. It burned lifting his arm up but strike the competition he did with a hammering uppercut.
It hurt to inhale deeply so he took half breaths assuming one of his short rips were broken and goading his lung. Another jab to the ribs ejected his mouthpiece and stole the air away from him, he returned with a hook and felt the opponent's face flesh contact his knuckles.
They were both of them exhausted in a grueling, tedious duel of endurance, pain and endurance. Again and again, meat under the hammer-meat under the hammer.
They hugged each other, too tired to lift another punch-the mediator broke them up and yet again they met…two men struggling to hold on to consciousness. Steps of a weary fighter, seven there were before closing the distance in arm's reach.
"Give up. Give up." He chanted at the other fighter but stood he remained, the cheetah dropped his left shoulder glancing the punch from the bull.
Like flies on the desert sand dancing in the heat so they were, oppressive warmth weighed down on them.
He called upon all the intensive training that brought him to this moment and drive for victory mustering up all the strength he had and attacked the ox. He pushed him up to the ropes and broke away landing blow after blow, the crowd was ooh-ing and ah-ing.
Dry blood on his knuckles layered with fresh and blend into the crimson tape cuff, cuff, cuff the bull groggily bent backwards from the blows and gradually slid down the ropes.
He put up his hands to safe face but it was ineffective and continually the cheetah repeated the strikes until he fell to the floor. His eyes scanned the horde of cheering faces but still in quiet, he sucked in the triumph like a sponge-reveling at his fortitude.
The teaches slipped in through the ropes embracing him, he finally relaxed letting them hold him erect.
The conquest had finally come to an end and all that remained was splendor of an accomplishment, nay a feat.
East bound he was with his new riches and reputation to see a world never before seen, they lifted him up and he raised his arms.
Tears of joy and content streamed down his face "Look at me now. Take me as I am mother, father." inside a gap had been filled.
He felt like that long stretch of dirt road where he used to visit church every Sunday, holes everywhere and imperfections but now it had been smoothed out, greased over with balsam oil and born anew.
The lips of victory had proved to be a tasteful woman, his appetite slaked.
~He understood now why he loved this game~
*Dedicated to my grandfather and grandmother. You'll be solely missed.