FEAR: A Rocky fan fic
Rocky before the big bout 1976..
Rocky stared at the ceiling, small tears falling down his cheeks, stinging in the open wounds from his last fight. He gasped and began crying more heavily, intaking each breath as if he were hyperventilating after running too hard, or over exertion. His life was worthless to him at this point, he believed that he would never become a worthwhile fighter, never find true love, true happiness, and a fulfilling life. He thought that, maybe all those people out there were right, and maybe he was doomed to be a bum for the rest of his life because he was a dreamer. He was afraid to take the next step, afraid to take the challenges, but something inside him urged him to go forward. He began to think of all the people who had insulted him, ridiculed him, and put him down, because he chose to be a dreamer. We can't change who we are in this world, and to blame someone for being who they are was crazy to him. He became angry, and to the point of rage as he sat on his bed, tears still coming down. He suddenly leaped off his bed and furiously began punching his makeshift punching bag, until he punched so furiously he screamed and fell to the floor, sobbing, lost because he wanted only his dreams.
In a fit of sudden fury, he laced on his running shoes, blazed down the steps of his boarding house, and flew onto the concrete with the greatest of ease. His legs churned powerfully, as he flew down the streets of Philadelphia. His face grimaced and his eyes hardened, he was determined to show everyone but most of all himself that he could go the distance. Barreling down the streets, grunting and breathing heavily, he ran by shops and hotels, diners and government buildings, the only concern on his mind being this one run. He ran through markets, through railroads, down streets, through alleyways, and with each passing step he turned heads, and captured minds. Sure anyone could run, but could they run with passion? Rocky thought about this, and continued, slapping the pavement with each decaying high-top, flying even more as he felt the passion pass through his body, scorch his soul, and empower his body. He snarled, and grit his teeth as he neared the end of his run, and approached those intimidating stairs, pushing through the cramps, sore spots, and simply pouring all his love, all his hate, and all his passion, into proving he could do it. People watched as he approached the steps, minds caught in his moment, time frozen simply for him. They saw his blood, sweat and tears as he climbed, passion radiating from him like a beam of light. He bounded up the steps in great leaps and upon reaching the top smiled and jumped up and down with joy. Had he really done it? Yes, he thought to himself. I have done it. He had proven it to everyone else, but most of all to himself.
Rocky before the big bout 1976..
Rocky stared at the ceiling, small tears falling down his cheeks, stinging in the open wounds from his last fight. He gasped and began crying more heavily, intaking each breath as if he were hyperventilating after running too hard, or over exertion. His life was worthless to him at this point, he believed that he would never become a worthwhile fighter, never find true love, true happiness, and a fulfilling life. He thought that, maybe all those people out there were right, and maybe he was doomed to be a bum for the rest of his life because he was a dreamer. He was afraid to take the next step, afraid to take the challenges, but something inside him urged him to go forward. He began to think of all the people who had insulted him, ridiculed him, and put him down, because he chose to be a dreamer. We can't change who we are in this world, and to blame someone for being who they are was crazy to him. He became angry, and to the point of rage as he sat on his bed, tears still coming down. He suddenly leaped off his bed and furiously began punching his makeshift punching bag, until he punched so furiously he screamed and fell to the floor, sobbing, lost because he wanted only his dreams.
In a fit of sudden fury, he laced on his running shoes, blazed down the steps of his boarding house, and flew onto the concrete with the greatest of ease. His legs churned powerfully, as he flew down the streets of Philadelphia. His face grimaced and his eyes hardened, he was determined to show everyone but most of all himself that he could go the distance. Barreling down the streets, grunting and breathing heavily, he ran by shops and hotels, diners and government buildings, the only concern on his mind being this one run. He ran through markets, through railroads, down streets, through alleyways, and with each passing step he turned heads, and captured minds. Sure anyone could run, but could they run with passion? Rocky thought about this, and continued, slapping the pavement with each decaying high-top, flying even more as he felt the passion pass through his body, scorch his soul, and empower his body. He snarled, and grit his teeth as he neared the end of his run, and approached those intimidating stairs, pushing through the cramps, sore spots, and simply pouring all his love, all his hate, and all his passion, into proving he could do it. People watched as he approached the steps, minds caught in his moment, time frozen simply for him. They saw his blood, sweat and tears as he climbed, passion radiating from him like a beam of light. He bounded up the steps in great leaps and upon reaching the top smiled and jumped up and down with joy. Had he really done it? Yes, he thought to himself. I have done it. He had proven it to everyone else, but most of all to himself.