It was just another night and Rocky could not sleep. He tossed and
turned, stared at the ceiling and counted how many pieces of gum he had
thrown up there (as well as how many pieces of gum he HADN'T thrown up
there) simply out of boredom. He had never known this kind of fear before
in his life, and feeling it now it scared him half to death. This was all
he had ever wanted, all he had ever dreamed of, but most of all he was
afraid of failing. It's funny how much people don't want to go through
with something when they are given the chance to do it because of fear, and
at that moment that was what Rocky felt. He was afraid of failing and
becoming a nobody again. I'm just another bum, he thought to himself, why
is this happening to me and not to someone else? What makes me so special?
He pondered these questions over and over again in his mind, reeling it
through his head like a movie. The questions appeared in big bold letters
in space, glaring down at him until it drove him nuts. He had dozed off
into a fitful half sleep and awoken from his own mental anguish. He was
driving himself crazy over this, and he needed to get away to think. He
stared at the clock. It read one thirty in the morning, and he knew that
one thirty in the morning was not the best time to walk around the city,
but he didn't care. He felt like going for a walk to calm himself down,
and either walking or running was always the best therapy for Rocky.
Slowly he rose from his bed and slipped on his only t-shirt, soiled from dirt, food, and other accidental spills. He threw on his tattered sweat pants, and laced up his smelly, grungy hi-tops. Then he threw on his black skull cap, and last he placed over his t-shirt his sweatshirt which read "Italian Stallion". He then headed over to the mirror to gaze at himself. He looked like something the cat had drug in, and the more he stared the more the image began to imprint itself in his brain. This is what being a dreamer gets you, he thought, tattered clothes and hopeless fear. He didn't expect much out of this fight, even though he was training hard for it, and thought he knew for sure that he was going to end up on the bottom again with all the other bums. Scowling he turned away from the mirror, opened the door to his apartment, slammed it and rushed down the stairs in a fit of fury. When he reached the door that lead to the outside he stopped and returned to a walking pace. He ambled down the steps and leaped onto the sidewalk. He walked through the streets of Philadephia chilled to the bone from the insanely cold weather. The cold had always been his worst enemy, much like the rest of the world. He huffed, and thought that it always seemed like everything was out to get him. It all seemed so unfair to him that he seemed to be the only guy who got the raw end of the deal. Life was unfair, he thought to himself as he huffed and kicked a can. Then something hit him smack in the head. Why was he complaining so much? He had everything in the world to be thankful for. He had a girl who loved him just as much as he loved her, a great trainer who loved him as well, and a one time shot that he was sure to benefit from even if he lost. Rocky needed what it took to go the distance, and until he realized what he needed he was never going to be ready for what was about to happen to his life. His life was changing, and it frightened him to death, and still it excited him.
Suddenly Rocky shifted from a walk into a jog and ran until he met those steps again. Those steps always intimidated him even though he knew he could climb them with no problem. He simply stood in front of those steps and realized something that he had never realized before. Those steps were like his life, even though they were cracked and had turned an ugly gray, they always pointed forward. No matter how bad things got he would always keep moving forward like the rest of the world, and as he thought about that he got a feeling that felt like a warm blanket. He was much like the rest of the world, knowing that everyone had their problems just like he did, but there was always something that would always set him apart from the rest of the world. His passion for dreaming would always set him apart from the rest of the world and made him who he truly was- a dreamer. As he thought about it seemed quite poetic, and he smiled. He knew he was special, and now he knew after years of searching who he truly was. He was a fighter, a lover, and a poet of dreams. He has answered the question that everyone was plagued by- who am I? He suddenly felt very full and satisfied, and as he climbed the steps one by one he was one step closer to finally clarifying his life.
When he finally reached the top of the steps he stood in all his glory against the full fury of the Philadeplhia wind chill and shouted at the top of his lungs to no one in particular,
"BRING IT ON! I'm ready now!"
Smiling to himself he leaped down the steps, skipping over each one by twos, until he hit the bottom. He flew by buildings and whizzed past the slums, until he finally found his way back to his apartment. He leaped up the steps, flung through the door, and leaped up the next couple of flights of stairs until he reached his familiar door. He swung it open and flung himself onto his bed and heaved a giant sigh. Now he was one step closer to the greatest moment of his life.
Slowly he rose from his bed and slipped on his only t-shirt, soiled from dirt, food, and other accidental spills. He threw on his tattered sweat pants, and laced up his smelly, grungy hi-tops. Then he threw on his black skull cap, and last he placed over his t-shirt his sweatshirt which read "Italian Stallion". He then headed over to the mirror to gaze at himself. He looked like something the cat had drug in, and the more he stared the more the image began to imprint itself in his brain. This is what being a dreamer gets you, he thought, tattered clothes and hopeless fear. He didn't expect much out of this fight, even though he was training hard for it, and thought he knew for sure that he was going to end up on the bottom again with all the other bums. Scowling he turned away from the mirror, opened the door to his apartment, slammed it and rushed down the stairs in a fit of fury. When he reached the door that lead to the outside he stopped and returned to a walking pace. He ambled down the steps and leaped onto the sidewalk. He walked through the streets of Philadephia chilled to the bone from the insanely cold weather. The cold had always been his worst enemy, much like the rest of the world. He huffed, and thought that it always seemed like everything was out to get him. It all seemed so unfair to him that he seemed to be the only guy who got the raw end of the deal. Life was unfair, he thought to himself as he huffed and kicked a can. Then something hit him smack in the head. Why was he complaining so much? He had everything in the world to be thankful for. He had a girl who loved him just as much as he loved her, a great trainer who loved him as well, and a one time shot that he was sure to benefit from even if he lost. Rocky needed what it took to go the distance, and until he realized what he needed he was never going to be ready for what was about to happen to his life. His life was changing, and it frightened him to death, and still it excited him.
Suddenly Rocky shifted from a walk into a jog and ran until he met those steps again. Those steps always intimidated him even though he knew he could climb them with no problem. He simply stood in front of those steps and realized something that he had never realized before. Those steps were like his life, even though they were cracked and had turned an ugly gray, they always pointed forward. No matter how bad things got he would always keep moving forward like the rest of the world, and as he thought about that he got a feeling that felt like a warm blanket. He was much like the rest of the world, knowing that everyone had their problems just like he did, but there was always something that would always set him apart from the rest of the world. His passion for dreaming would always set him apart from the rest of the world and made him who he truly was- a dreamer. As he thought about it seemed quite poetic, and he smiled. He knew he was special, and now he knew after years of searching who he truly was. He was a fighter, a lover, and a poet of dreams. He has answered the question that everyone was plagued by- who am I? He suddenly felt very full and satisfied, and as he climbed the steps one by one he was one step closer to finally clarifying his life.
When he finally reached the top of the steps he stood in all his glory against the full fury of the Philadeplhia wind chill and shouted at the top of his lungs to no one in particular,
"BRING IT ON! I'm ready now!"
Smiling to himself he leaped down the steps, skipping over each one by twos, until he hit the bottom. He flew by buildings and whizzed past the slums, until he finally found his way back to his apartment. He leaped up the steps, flung through the door, and leaped up the next couple of flights of stairs until he reached his familiar door. He swung it open and flung himself onto his bed and heaved a giant sigh. Now he was one step closer to the greatest moment of his life.