Nash and Guile: You always hurt the one you love
Part II: 'Self-improvement is masturbation. Self improvement...'
-Tyler Durdan
By: Eternal_Ukyou
Somewhere else in the world the people fated to be my friends, as well as my adversaries where training. But now I was beginning my journey into their ranks. It would not be too much longer now till I would find myself face to face with people like Chun-Li or Ken Masters.
Maybe they knew we would fight someday, but then I knew only one thing...
"HUSSEL! FASTER YOU BUMS!" Above the driving rain and the sound of sloshing mud our instructor shouted. In my mind I grasped his voice and nothing more. Since I had returned to school, I had signed up for every single training practice I could get. I avoided my peers who punished me and shunned me for my past love of Nash. Sometimes to beat me up, sometimes they play tricks on me. So I shunned them back, I became an impenetrable rock. When I wasn't studying or crawling through the mud, I was working out into the wee hours of the night. At first I felt hopeless, like I would never be strong, but little by little I found myself catching up to the other boys, even keeping up with them. When I came home that summer my mothers eyes nearly fell out of her head. For the first time I stopped and looked into the mirrors that lined out entryway.
My eyes dance over an image I had never seen before. Who was this strange man in my reflection? Tall and lean, hard muscles bulging under a too-small tank top, a strong neck and arms big with strength. Golden hair, once my pride a joy, now looked awkwardly long and unkempt even nicely brushed.
My mother muttered something to the effect of 'getting on just fine with Nash...'
My father, still angry about my love for a boy, turned away.
"Don't worry dad." I lowered my head in shame. "I've grown out of it."
And for the first time in as long as I can remember, my father embarrassed me, but only for a moment.
"Come on son, let's do something about that hair."
"Ok, Dad."
"I think my mother cried when she saw me. I was still in uniform, and my hair, oh lord what a mess. Now short, refused to lie down and stood totally erect. I ran my silver comb through it, my final memoir of Nash, and was strangely pleased with myself.
That summer my father taught me to hurt and more importantly how to fight.
At first I didn't like to fight as much as I liked to hunt, but slowly I found a passion in it. In the style and flair I could develop. It became something all my own. A skill fresh for testing. What better place than school?
Math. English. Latin. Science. History. Fighting.
That was my day. I'd stir up trouble till it either walked away or exploded. In the park at dusk, or on the dock after lunch, the hour didn't matter, as long as I did it.
The slapping sound of a solid punch, the cracks of a breaking nose; the cheering of the crowd, this was a glimpse of what was to come for me.
By mid-year I had exceeded far beyond the other boys, both academically and physically. I felt invincible. Like a god, who begged for worship.
So I called the fight I had been waiting all year for. He was Aron Summers, the 'leader' of the group Nash hung out with. In my time is shame they scrutinized me more than anyone else. Once they had cornered me in the bathroom and beat me in the corner. I remember watching Nash's eyes as they kicked me in the stomach. Now I would show them.
It wasn't that glamorous really. I just remember the look on Nash's face when I put his friend through the fence.
Yes, he used to be my best friend, my brother, my kin so to speak. If he wasn't going to be that anymore, he would fear me, just as I had done him. He would see what I had become because of his brutality to me. I wanted him to think of me as a terrible monster, a tyrant.
I let their blood splatter on my face, and beat then brutally till they where unfit to be looked at. And as I walked away and shook my hand just so the blood from my fingers splattered across Nash, and when he looked into my eyes, I gave him a cold hallow look as if you to say 'next time It'll be you.' He wasn't my friend, what did I care.
I went back to my room and scrubbed the blood out from under my nails. Then I laid down on my bed to think.
What was there for me to accomplish now? I had achieved my goal, what do I do now? I looked at my hands, what more could they posses?
I wanted to be stronger.
I wanted something more. Something I could never have.
At the time I didn't understand what I had done, I didn't know what I did to Nash in those moments of brutality. If only I had known maybe things would have been different. But we where only boys then, on a rough, rocky road.
That night Nash improved himself over images of my inner-monster till he cried salty white tears onto his hands.
And I scrubbed the crusted blood from under nails till I bled myself. I lost track of everything I did, the image of Nash, cowered in fear as he watched me beat his friend.
No, I didn't love him anymore and all the while I told myself I felt nothing, but I could think of nothing but him.
How did he think of me then, I worried. I thought I wanted to be a monster, but I wasn't sure now that I was. Then I thought of him, bandaging his friends with a careful finesse. For a moment I wanted to go back to childhood, before I had foolishly followed that I thought was my heart, but was really my hormones. And forever maybe, I would have to live with hanging over my head like a little black rain cloud.
I didn't fight for the next week. I kept asking myself 'now what?' I did what I sought out to do. My mind was swimming constantly in this strange sea of questions; all unanswerable. What now? What could I do? No answer I could find.
My body was a solid mass of muscle. I was the best at everything I did. In every advanced program, the top of my class. I felt aimless.
It was spring. I remember walking under a downpour of pink flowers on my way to an off campus restaurant. I looked up, and there he was.
Nash. He was sitting on a bench with his lunch spread across his lap, a novel in his right hand.
I watched a shadow of a small boy run up to him, only to disappear on contact. I then realized it was a shadow of me. A tiny elusive image of who I used to be.
I was a man now, not that little boy.
Then all of the sudden my vision was shattered. I found myself on the ground, looking at the more radiant illusion of a woman I had ever seen.
"Oh my! I'm sorry, are you all right? I wasn't looking where I was going and..." I didn't hear anything after that. My eyes so enthralled with her shape. She then moved to recover her fumbled possessions and keep her knees together at the same time - such elegance.
What caught myself the most was how she pushed her spun gold hair behind her ear with a delicate finger.
Dumbfounded I helped her collect her things with one strong arm; I pulled her feather light body up till she was standing on her feet.
"I'm.... I'm Will." I said to her dumbly. She smiled and color filled her cheeks.
"I'm Julia." When you smiled at me just then, I couldn't control my mouth.
"Would you like to go for lunch with me?"
What an ironically fateful question.
I brought Julia home for Christmas. My father loved her. My mother adored her. And I... well you know what I thought.
Nash and his family had a tradition of visiting on Christmas evening. I remember how Nash's face turned a funny shade of green when he saw the pendant I bought Julia.
That night, after supper, she and I conversed on the balcony, admiring the falling snow, when Nash came out. He asked for a private word with me, and she very politely, like the good woman she was, excused herself back to the parlor.
The moment the door closed my evil glare fell upon Nash. I needed no word, and for a moment he looked on me, seeming speechless as well. At the time I was sure that it was the cold night air that made his cheeks so red.
"Will, I..." He faulted.
"What do you want?"
"I... Well I..."
"Forget it Nash." I turned and stormed back toward the house. But in my rage I heard a tiny voice.
"I love you..."
No... no I didn't hear that. It-it was just a figment of my imagination. It couldn't be.
"What?" I turned slowly. I looked at him as he turned away, tears in his eyes.
"Its true..." His voice was as soft as the snow that fell like a haze about us. "Ever since I watched you pound my friend I knew-I knew I had always loved you but I had been to scared to admit it."
I watched with eyes wide as Nash destroyed himself before me.
"I was afraid that the others would hate me, that they would persecute me... like they did to you, like I did to you."
Smash. Kill. Destroy.
"But now, when I see you with her, I know, because it makes me want to die." He turned. "I want you to look at me like that! I want you to treat me like you treat her!" He was nearly shouting now, tears flowing freely down his face. "I want to be your best friend again! I want you to love me."
~End Part II~
To be continued...
Part II: 'Self-improvement is masturbation. Self improvement...'
-Tyler Durdan
By: Eternal_Ukyou
Somewhere else in the world the people fated to be my friends, as well as my adversaries where training. But now I was beginning my journey into their ranks. It would not be too much longer now till I would find myself face to face with people like Chun-Li or Ken Masters.
Maybe they knew we would fight someday, but then I knew only one thing...
"HUSSEL! FASTER YOU BUMS!" Above the driving rain and the sound of sloshing mud our instructor shouted. In my mind I grasped his voice and nothing more. Since I had returned to school, I had signed up for every single training practice I could get. I avoided my peers who punished me and shunned me for my past love of Nash. Sometimes to beat me up, sometimes they play tricks on me. So I shunned them back, I became an impenetrable rock. When I wasn't studying or crawling through the mud, I was working out into the wee hours of the night. At first I felt hopeless, like I would never be strong, but little by little I found myself catching up to the other boys, even keeping up with them. When I came home that summer my mothers eyes nearly fell out of her head. For the first time I stopped and looked into the mirrors that lined out entryway.
My eyes dance over an image I had never seen before. Who was this strange man in my reflection? Tall and lean, hard muscles bulging under a too-small tank top, a strong neck and arms big with strength. Golden hair, once my pride a joy, now looked awkwardly long and unkempt even nicely brushed.
My mother muttered something to the effect of 'getting on just fine with Nash...'
My father, still angry about my love for a boy, turned away.
"Don't worry dad." I lowered my head in shame. "I've grown out of it."
And for the first time in as long as I can remember, my father embarrassed me, but only for a moment.
"Come on son, let's do something about that hair."
"Ok, Dad."
"I think my mother cried when she saw me. I was still in uniform, and my hair, oh lord what a mess. Now short, refused to lie down and stood totally erect. I ran my silver comb through it, my final memoir of Nash, and was strangely pleased with myself.
That summer my father taught me to hurt and more importantly how to fight.
At first I didn't like to fight as much as I liked to hunt, but slowly I found a passion in it. In the style and flair I could develop. It became something all my own. A skill fresh for testing. What better place than school?
Math. English. Latin. Science. History. Fighting.
That was my day. I'd stir up trouble till it either walked away or exploded. In the park at dusk, or on the dock after lunch, the hour didn't matter, as long as I did it.
The slapping sound of a solid punch, the cracks of a breaking nose; the cheering of the crowd, this was a glimpse of what was to come for me.
By mid-year I had exceeded far beyond the other boys, both academically and physically. I felt invincible. Like a god, who begged for worship.
So I called the fight I had been waiting all year for. He was Aron Summers, the 'leader' of the group Nash hung out with. In my time is shame they scrutinized me more than anyone else. Once they had cornered me in the bathroom and beat me in the corner. I remember watching Nash's eyes as they kicked me in the stomach. Now I would show them.
It wasn't that glamorous really. I just remember the look on Nash's face when I put his friend through the fence.
Yes, he used to be my best friend, my brother, my kin so to speak. If he wasn't going to be that anymore, he would fear me, just as I had done him. He would see what I had become because of his brutality to me. I wanted him to think of me as a terrible monster, a tyrant.
I let their blood splatter on my face, and beat then brutally till they where unfit to be looked at. And as I walked away and shook my hand just so the blood from my fingers splattered across Nash, and when he looked into my eyes, I gave him a cold hallow look as if you to say 'next time It'll be you.' He wasn't my friend, what did I care.
I went back to my room and scrubbed the blood out from under my nails. Then I laid down on my bed to think.
What was there for me to accomplish now? I had achieved my goal, what do I do now? I looked at my hands, what more could they posses?
I wanted to be stronger.
I wanted something more. Something I could never have.
At the time I didn't understand what I had done, I didn't know what I did to Nash in those moments of brutality. If only I had known maybe things would have been different. But we where only boys then, on a rough, rocky road.
That night Nash improved himself over images of my inner-monster till he cried salty white tears onto his hands.
And I scrubbed the crusted blood from under nails till I bled myself. I lost track of everything I did, the image of Nash, cowered in fear as he watched me beat his friend.
No, I didn't love him anymore and all the while I told myself I felt nothing, but I could think of nothing but him.
How did he think of me then, I worried. I thought I wanted to be a monster, but I wasn't sure now that I was. Then I thought of him, bandaging his friends with a careful finesse. For a moment I wanted to go back to childhood, before I had foolishly followed that I thought was my heart, but was really my hormones. And forever maybe, I would have to live with hanging over my head like a little black rain cloud.
I didn't fight for the next week. I kept asking myself 'now what?' I did what I sought out to do. My mind was swimming constantly in this strange sea of questions; all unanswerable. What now? What could I do? No answer I could find.
My body was a solid mass of muscle. I was the best at everything I did. In every advanced program, the top of my class. I felt aimless.
It was spring. I remember walking under a downpour of pink flowers on my way to an off campus restaurant. I looked up, and there he was.
Nash. He was sitting on a bench with his lunch spread across his lap, a novel in his right hand.
I watched a shadow of a small boy run up to him, only to disappear on contact. I then realized it was a shadow of me. A tiny elusive image of who I used to be.
I was a man now, not that little boy.
Then all of the sudden my vision was shattered. I found myself on the ground, looking at the more radiant illusion of a woman I had ever seen.
"Oh my! I'm sorry, are you all right? I wasn't looking where I was going and..." I didn't hear anything after that. My eyes so enthralled with her shape. She then moved to recover her fumbled possessions and keep her knees together at the same time - such elegance.
What caught myself the most was how she pushed her spun gold hair behind her ear with a delicate finger.
Dumbfounded I helped her collect her things with one strong arm; I pulled her feather light body up till she was standing on her feet.
"I'm.... I'm Will." I said to her dumbly. She smiled and color filled her cheeks.
"I'm Julia." When you smiled at me just then, I couldn't control my mouth.
"Would you like to go for lunch with me?"
What an ironically fateful question.
I brought Julia home for Christmas. My father loved her. My mother adored her. And I... well you know what I thought.
Nash and his family had a tradition of visiting on Christmas evening. I remember how Nash's face turned a funny shade of green when he saw the pendant I bought Julia.
That night, after supper, she and I conversed on the balcony, admiring the falling snow, when Nash came out. He asked for a private word with me, and she very politely, like the good woman she was, excused herself back to the parlor.
The moment the door closed my evil glare fell upon Nash. I needed no word, and for a moment he looked on me, seeming speechless as well. At the time I was sure that it was the cold night air that made his cheeks so red.
"Will, I..." He faulted.
"What do you want?"
"I... Well I..."
"Forget it Nash." I turned and stormed back toward the house. But in my rage I heard a tiny voice.
"I love you..."
No... no I didn't hear that. It-it was just a figment of my imagination. It couldn't be.
"What?" I turned slowly. I looked at him as he turned away, tears in his eyes.
"Its true..." His voice was as soft as the snow that fell like a haze about us. "Ever since I watched you pound my friend I knew-I knew I had always loved you but I had been to scared to admit it."
I watched with eyes wide as Nash destroyed himself before me.
"I was afraid that the others would hate me, that they would persecute me... like they did to you, like I did to you."
Smash. Kill. Destroy.
"But now, when I see you with her, I know, because it makes me want to die." He turned. "I want you to look at me like that! I want you to treat me like you treat her!" He was nearly shouting now, tears flowing freely down his face. "I want to be your best friend again! I want you to love me."
~End Part II~
To be continued...