Yay, another update! I've decided to include "interludes" where I take you into our green avenger's mind. These interludes will be told in the first person, so forgive me if it seems confusing. It's also a nice break from the intense action!
Trigger warnings: Sensitive themes and mentions of violent acts. Read at your own risk.
"How can you see into my eyes, like open doors?
Leading you down into my core, where I've become so numb…?"
-Evanescence, "Bring Me to Life"
As I lay on my bed at night, endeavoring to coax my brain out of a state of hyperactivity, I can see the faces of the scumbags who have done this to me and the monsters responsible. The big-shots, the jocks, the tough guys of Smash. Even the bliss of rapid eye movement does not shelter me from them. In the realm of my dreams, they continue to torment me, to even deny me the privilege of beauty sleep. I shouldn't be surprised; if you're a bully, allowing your most cherished victim forty winks would be too nice, wouldn't it?
Thoughts and memories of them swirl on and on in a maddening maelstrom. It's because of them I spend my nights in the Wii Fit Training Room laying waste to an army of eager Sandbags, pretending I'm facing down all of my enemies and single-handedly mopping the ground with them. Dark, death metal music plays at max volume, extremely suitable for my current mood. The lyrics pound into my ears as I set about decimating the Sandbag in front of me, shutting out all thoughts and emotions except for my movements and the howling need for release, the screaming need to get these monsters out of my head so I can at least grab an adequate amount of sleep. Adrenaline surges into me, and it feels great. My fists slam into the Sandbag, and I yell out. I keep yelling and pounding, yelling and pounding, music taking its desired effect. Sandbag after Sandbag falls, now ready for the scrap heap. I know replacement Sandbags will have to come out of my money, but I don't care. I'm on fire, and if Master Hand chooses this precise moment to gripe at me over it, then I'll tell him to stuff it and drop dead.
Though the duration of my beatdown, I allow myself to remember, to replay all of the events that have led me to my present situation. Me, backed up against a wall, the rough posse coming at me with snarling faces to do whatever they pleased because they simply wanted to. A leg "accidentally" tripping me, sending me to the dining hall floor, my food spilling all over me. The incessant taunting during a match, my opponents sidestepping as many rules as they could just so they could have at me. Laughter, slicing deep into me and agitating the fine hairs on my neck. Voices chanting, "Loser, nobody, loser, nobody, loser, loser, lame, lame, pitiful". And while for some it fades into oblivion, it stays imprinted like a stamp, or a brand, for that matter, within my spirit. And so here we are, in the Training Room in the deep of night, Amy Lee leading Evanescence in crooning a Goth-y ditty, focusing on all of that garbage and letting it build, like a slow burn, until it finally—wins—finally explodes in me, sending me cartwheeling and dodging and whirling and leaping from one end of the room to another, leaving destroyed Sandbags in my wake, hollering in complete exhilaration and anticipation of what's to come.
"Wake me up inside, wake me up inside.
Call my name and save me from the dark.
Bid my blood to run, before I come undone.
Save me from the nothing I've become.
Bring me to life…bring me to life…"
Sweat pours down my face and soaks my shirt. My tongue flicks out and tastes it—it's as salty as the tears that used to flow down my face. My throat's going raw from shouting, but my exclamations don't cease. One hard hand stab sends a Sandbag crashing out of a window with a satisfying shatter of glass, and I acrobatically flip, kicking another unlucky Sandbag during the flip. I drop to my back and spin around like an expert break-dancer, legs flying, sending a group of Sandbags flying like bowling pins. As I get back up, I feel invigorated. More Evanescence songs continue to spew from the stereo, the perfect soundtrack to my sweat-out. Even more Sandbags become airborne, sailing out the shattered window after my lethal attacks, attacks which have greatly improved after many years of steadfast training. The tension within me begins to splinter as I translate it into retribution for each Sandbag in my way, concentrating on obliterating every last one, just as I'll obliterate every last Smasher who gave me grief for the past sixteen years. This prospect causes my passion to grow, and I unload even more aggression into my stationary foes.
At long last, I'm facing it. The very last one. I breathe heavily, my emotions coalescing into one undefinable mass. Inhaling, exhaling, feeling each tiny droplet of sweat sliding down my skin and onto the floor. Tension, coiling, building once more, and then suddenly—
…it explodes—
…like a cannon firing—
And I'm whaling away at the lone Sandbag, my grand finale, bombarding it with punches, jabs and kicks, practically screaming at it, jumping high to attack it from the air, sliding along the ground to attack it from below, tenderizing it, feasting on it—watching it give before my eyes, the white stuffing exposed like marshmallow filling, and I allow myself no time to think; just keep going and going until the Sandbag is on its last leg, and with one last blow, I send it off to join the majority of its friends.
I stand in a wasteland of ravaged Sandbags, wind blowing from the broken window, rustling my hair, moonlight pouring all over my perspiring form. My breathing slows, steadies. Five seconds in, five seconds hold, five seconds out. Five seconds in, five seconds hold, five seconds out.
Breathe in.
One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
Three Mississippi.
Four Mississippi.
Five Mississippi.
Now hold.
One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
Three Mississippi. (Steady, think happy thoughts.)
Four Mississippi. (Easy there, take it easy.)
Five Mississippi.
Now breathe out.
One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
Three Mississippi.
Four Mississippi.
Five Mississippi.
All I hear is the music, the sound of my breath, and the drum of my heart. I've banished the voices of my tormentors, for a while at least.
I smell pollinating flowers in the wind, a counterbalance to the adrenaline and body odor radiating off of me in waves.
I see my reflection in a nearby mirror, all sweated out, hair plastered against my forehead, a smile replacing the anger on my face.
I smile because I know that despite the bullies, I have some allies among the Smashers, a big bro's love being the strongest. I smile because I've had a year all to myself, and because of that, I'm no longer a nobody. I smile because I have spirit on my side, for instead of allowing the hate and mocking to break me, I made it build me up with a stronger foundation. And I smile because as the day dawns, so will a chance for me to prove the haters wrong, to make them the weak ones, to make them regret what they regarded as child's play. To break them like they've tried to break me.
When fortune smiles on something as violent and ugly as revenge, it seems proof like no other, that not only does God exist, you're doing His will.
And I won't have it any other way.
I've hope you've enjoyed this first glimpse into the mind of our Hero in Green. I don't own any of the song lyrics. I actually wrote this while listening to some Evanescence songs.
Please read and review.
