Disclaimer: Depictions of death, suicide, and child abuse. If you know these subject-matters will be upsetting for you, kindly hit the back arrow.
The Boulder wasn't always The Boulder.
He was once just a child named Gihan, whose world revolved around poverty.
His childhood wasn't always a happy one, though if he tried hard enough, he could conjure up a few hazy, but happy memories. Memories that mostly revolved around his family — a group which consisted of a strong-muscled father, a fragile mother, a cheerful little sister, and himself. He remembers times when his father would take him and his little sister to the orchards, and they'd spend hours picking juicy, red apples to munch on for the rest of the week.
Or times where he would find a pretty fire lily to bring home to his little sister, Ara. She'd smile and throw her little arms around Gihan's neck and he'd spin her around, listening to her infectious giggles. Sometimes, he remembers instances where his mother still had enough strength in her to take her children on walks around the poor slums they called home.
He was young when he realized that Gaoling was a corrupt place. The rich would get richer, and the poor get poorer. It was a vicious cycle that only benefited a handful, and condemned the rest to a lifetime of poverty. But still, despite the poverty and corruption, Gihan and his sister, Ara, were happy children for the most part.
But as the years went on, happy memories were fewer and far between.
The problem really started when his mother's health began its rapid decline. His mother — a noblewoman who gave up her wealth to marry a poor boy — was very sickly since birth and she became even sicker after the birth of Gihan. Over the years, she developed a rare disease that made her cough blood and debilitated her to the point where she couldn't get up out of bed. The medical community of Gaoling were corrupt and greedy for money, so they weren't of much use to Gihan's low-income family.
Gihan's father, who loved Gihan's mother more than life itself, fell into depression after his wife's rapid decline in health. To distract himself, Gihan's father would stay out late in pubs, get into drunken fights with other drunks, and waste away whatever money they had. Gihan went sometimes several days with very minimal food and water. His father began spending more time drunk than sober, and his mother lived every day in increasing pain.
His father, who often blamed Gihan for his wife's poor health as her health began declining shortly after his birth, showed little remorse and even less willingness to change his habits.
As a result, by the time he was eleven years old, Gihan could count every single one of his ribs if he wanted to. He was skinny, and he was frail. His father once said that a strong wind would be enough to blow him over. His sister, aged nine, was of even worse health. Gihan wasn't a particularly bright boy, his father would often call him daft, but he knew that Ara was of poor health.
At nine years old, she was the size of a five-year-old. Her growth was stunted by the lack of food on the table, so her little bones began jutting out at awkward-looking angles. Her hair was thin and brittle, as were her fingernails. But Gihan loved his little sister more than anything, and he'd do anything to protect her.
One year later, when Gihan was twelve and Ara was only ten, their mother's frail heart finally gave out.
Gihan and Ara had returned from school that day to find their father already home and throwing various house-hold items. Things were breaking and shattering against the rock walls, and their father was ramming his fists into a stone wall, his blood dripping onto the floor. The visual of striking red against tan, blood against stone, was something that always stuck with Gihan at the back of his mind.
It took him a few minutes, but he soon realized that only one thing could send his father into this state: Mom.
He told his sister to get out of the house, to run to the lady next door's house. He didn't want her seeing what he knew would be in their parent's bedroom. Then, he ran past his father and into his parent's bedroom. His mother, pale-faced and dark-haired, was lying motionless on the bed. Maybe Gihan would've thought that she was asleep, had it not been for her green and unblinking eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"Mom?" he called, still hoping that against all odds, she was still alive. He ran over to her, taking her cold hand into his. "Mom! Please wake up!"
"She's dead, you stupid boy," Gihan's father snarled from behind him. He was standing in the entrance of the room, and blood was running down from his knuckles. Balling up his fists, he smacked Gihan hard across the face. "Dead, you understand me — you stupid fucking boy! DEAD! And it's all your fault!"
Gihan had cried and run out of the room, out of the house, and into the streets. He didn't stop running until he reached the outskirts of town. He sat down, huffing, as he kicked a rock against a shabby-looking wall that marked the exit of Goaling. He was pleased when he saw the loud smack it made when it collided. He did it again, his toes aching. And again, his toes now numb.
And over and over and over, until his toes were all bloody.
He then grabbed a rock with his hand and hurled it with all his strength against the rock. It made a chip in the wall. He hurled another one, and another one until the chip turned into a large crack running down the length of the wall. But it wasn't enough, he wanted more.
Then, something just clicked inside him. He wouldn't want to explain it, even if he could. It was an unexplainable experience — sort of like everything just fell in place. Gihan reached for another rock, and without even having to pick it up it hovered over the air. He moved his hand towards the pillar, and the rock went hurling with more force than Gihan's arm could ever manage.
It was then Gihan understood he was an earthbender.
He looked down at the ground, at where the blood from his toes dripped onto the ground, and he saw it once more. The red against tan, the blood against stone.
The Boulder wasn't always The Boulder.
He was once just an older brother.
Exactly six months and three days after Gihan's mother passed, Gihan's father hung himself.
Gihan was thirteen at the time, and he had come home from school. Gihan and Ara now went to two different schools, so Gihan always returned about five minutes before his sister. He walked into his parent's bedroom, and he found his father. Strung up to the wall. Swaying slightly as a breeze rifted through the opened window. There was a yellowed-letter resting on the dresser beside him.
Gihan wasn't able to move. He stood, horrified, in front of his father's hanging corpse.
He hadn't realized Ara had come home. If he had, he wouldn't have allowed her to step one foot into the house. Wouldn't have allowed her to see their father like that. But she slipped in silently, and Gihan only realized that Ara was inside the house when he heard her bookbag drop to the ground with a thunk. He turned his head to see his little, innocent sister staring shocked at their father.
Then, once the shock subsided, the screaming began.
Gihan hoped that he would never have to hear that kind of screaming again. Gutteral, broken screams filled the house as Ara tried reviving their already dead father. The neighbors had to pull her away to allow the burial service to retrieve the body. In the few days that stretched between the time their father had died and his funeral, Ara had cried so hard that she was retching and convulsing on the floor.
Gihan, while he was also upset, was more worried about how he was going to provide for him and his younger sister. The orphanage would not be an option; he's seen the orphanage children. Somehow, they were more malnourished and bruised than he was, even when he was in the lowest point of his life. So Gihan resorted to street fighting.
It was a nasty business where rich people would pay money to watch children fight each other. The rich people would sponsor certain "contestants" and if their contestants won, they'd win bet money. The children who got into street fighting were mostly orphans like himself who were looking for a quick cash grab. Though children's street fighting was declared illegal in Gaoling, the law was never enforced.
The first street fight Gihan had ever participated in, he was forced to fight a boy who was no older than his sister Ara. He could've dropped out from the fight, but that would mean another night going to bed hungry for him and Ara. The hunger pangs in his belly told him that he had to do this. That he had no choice other than to do this. So, closing his eyes tight, he delivered a series of hard punches to the younger boy's face.
The younger boy finally tapped out after a few minutes, his nose dripping with blood onto the ground below him. Gihan had looked down at the ground, and he saw it again. The red against tan, the blood against stone.
"Sorry," he had whispered to the boy, unable to meet his swollen eyes. "I'm so, so sorry."
After the match, Gihan's sponsor approached him with a small stack of money and clapped him on the back in congratulations. His name was Xin Fu, a notorious sponsor in the street fighting field, and he was looking at Gihan like he was appraising a piece of meat.
Regardless, Gihan was glad for the money he received. With the money Gihan had earned from winning the fight, he managed to buy their first decent meal in weeks.
When he gave Ara's portion of food to her later that night, however, she only hardened her gaze at him.
"Where did you get the money for this food?" she had asked, her eyes taking in the minors cuts and scraps on his person.
"Drop it," Gihan muttered through a mouthful of food.
"Gihan, I said: where — did — you — get — the — money?" Ara had demanded.
"Dammit, Ara," he snapped, "I said drop it, okay? Just eat your food."
Ara had held her furious gaze with him, strong and unyielding. Then, pushing her plate away from her, she stood up on her bony, shaking legs. "I refuse to eat anything you earned from street fighting, Gihan," she had snarled.
The next morning, however, her hunger seemed to outweigh her conscience and she finally gave in and ate the food Gihan had saved for her (though she had been glowering all the while.) After a while, Ara stopped making off-handed comments and protests about her brother's street fighting, but she never quite came around to the idea of it. Gihan, on the other hand, grew to actually enjoy it.
Gihan wasn't particularly smart, especially not after he dropped out of school to start working. But he was smart enough to know that street fighting was what had been keeping them alive. Over time, he gained a lot of sponsors and recognition in the street fighting field, and he began saving up enough money to send Ara to university after she completed her early schooling. Gihan didn't want her to have to turn to the same thing he had to; he wanted her to have as many options in life as possible.
And for about a year or so, they were happy. Well, as happy as two orphaned siblings can be anyway.
But good things never lasted for long in Gihan's life.
Shortly after her twelfth birthday, Ara developed a nasty cough. It went away after some time, only to come back a few months later.
Ara became very sick very quickly, and Gihan immediately recognized her symptoms as the same ones that plagued their mother when she was still alive. He immediately took Ara to the physician, who quickly told him that their mother's disease was in fact hereditary and Ara had in fact inherited it. Furthermore, the sickness' progression appeared to be more severe for Ara.
Ara had wept into her hands at the news. Gihan had spent the rest of the day street fighting.
He was going to have to scrounge up enough money for Ara's treatment somehow, and street fighting was the only way he knew how. Unfortunately for him, Gaoling officials cracked down on street fighting at the worst possible time, so he resorted to taking up odd jobs doing things he was ashamed to admit. He knew that the doctors in Gaoling were corrupt and draining him of whatever money they had, but he had no other choice.
He kept draining the money he earned into treatment that the doctors promised would work, and he saw very little result. Internally, he subconsciously knew that the treatment wouldn't work, and the physicians weren't being completely honest with him about the validity of the treatment option. But he still invested their money into Ara's treatment, because he had no other choice. He could only hope that the treatment would work.
But it didn't.
For two years, they kept the cycle going. Gihan would earn money then promptly spend it on treatment for his little sister. His sister sometimes protested this.
"Stop wasting your money on me. It's not working, Gihan," she would say between hacking coughs, "I'm not stupid. I know I'm going to die."
"Don't you ever say that," he would growl at her, not that she ever listened.
And finally, at the end of the two years, when Gihan was sixteen and his sister was only fourteen, Ara's little heart gave out.
He was with her when it happened. He had just come back from work to see his sister lying on the floor, hacking coughs shaking her little frame. And something inside of him knew that it was her time to go. He wondered if he should go call for help or stay with her in her last moments. He chose the latter. He ran over to her and took her cold, cold hand into his.
She sobbed and Gihan felt tears running down his own face. He begged her to stay with him, and she told him not to mourn her. She said that everything would be okay, and that she wouldn't be in any more pain, and that he'd be better off without her. He told her she was crazy if she thought that. Then, suddenly, she shot upwards like a spring, and Gihan had thought that maybe she'd be okay.
But she wasn't.
Ara began coughing harder and harder until blood shot out of her mouth and onto the floor.
He took her into his arms and hugged her as tight as he could, hoping that maybe if he held onto her tight enough, her spirit wouldn't depart from her body. That she wouldn't have to die.
But she did anyway.
She suddenly went very still in his arms, and the coughs stopped. And he knew, oh he knew, that she was gone. She was gone and he was alone. He didn't want to let go of her; he didn't want to see her face and confirm that she was in fact gone. But he had to. And when he did, something caught his eye. He turned his head and looked at the ground where Ara had coughed blood and he saw it again.
He saw the red against tan, the blood against stone.
The Boulder wasn't always The Boulder.
He was once just a man named Gihan.
A man with no mother, no father, and no sister. A man with no aim in life who took up odd professions and did things he was ashamed of admitting to earn money. A man who was an earthbender, and considered pretty good at bending, yet with nothing to apply himself in. He was a fish out of water, truly.
He was working one of his odd jobs — someone had hired him to hold up a sign for their tea shop — when he approached him.
Xin Fu, one of Gaoling's most notorious street fighting sponsors who had once taken Gihan under his wing, looked truly nefarious as he stepped up to Gihan on the sidewalk.
"Gihan," Xin Fu called out as he neared him. "Long time no see, buddy! My, how you've grown!"
Gihan, blinking twice against the sunlight, snaked his arm up to wipe the beads of sweat collecting above his brow. "What did you want, Xin Fu?" he asked, his voice biting. "And don't call me buddy."
Xin Fu shot him a crooked smile. "Come, now," he chided, clapping a hand over his shoulder. "That's no way to greet your best sponsor."
Gihan nearly growled and smacked the older man's hand away from his shoulder. "What do you want, Xin Fu? The authorities cracked down on street fighting a long time ago, so if you're here to get me back into street fighting, you can forget it."
The older man looked appalled that Gihan would even suggest such a thing. "Gihan, the days of street fighting are over," he said, inspecting his fingernails nonchalantly. "I'm far more interested in the sport of the future —" He shrugged an arm over Gihan's sweaty shoulders, and with the other, he gestured to their surroundings theatrically, "Earth Rumble!"
"Earth Rumble?" Gihan echoed, shrugging away from Xin Fu's touch, "What's that?"
"It's a little project I've been working on since street fighting was shut down a few years ago," explained Xin Fu, "You see, here in Gaoling, there aren't many opportunities for humble earthbenders like you and me to make more money. Way too much corruption and politics. I'm hoping that Earth Rumble can help fix that. It's sort of set up like street fighting, but it'll be more official and safety protocols will be put into place.
"Basically," he continued, "earthbenders in Gaoling will sign up to participate in these scheduled matches, which will be crowd-funded, and whoever wins the match will earn money. The losers, while they won't win money, they win fame and recognition — which will eventually lead to making money. And the crowd, after paying an entrance fee, will have cheap access to the only source of entertainment in this dump of a city. It's a win-win for everyone involved. And I need you to participate in these matches. Or at least the first few ones, to get the momentum going."
Gihan stared at him mutely for a few minutes, his mind working through the offer. "A win-win, huh?" he repeated.
"Well, it sure beats standing around in the sun holding a sign for a shop you're too poor to purchase from," Xin Fu said, smirking.
After a few long minutes, Gihan dipped his head into a slow nod. "Okay," he said cautiously, "I'll try it."
Xin Fu looked delighted. "I'm glad to hear it, Gihan," he said, smiling. "But first, you'll need to reinvent yourself."
Gihan blinked at him. "Reinvent myself? But why? I like being Gihan."
"I'm sure you do," said Gihan, "but that's not who the crowds want to root for. Hate to break it to ya, kid, but people only root for dirt-poor orphans out of pity. You don't want pity-rooting. You want people to root for you because you're a strong, confident, buff hunk! You wanna be a boulder, someone that's synonymous with strength."
"Boulder," Gihan repeated, testing the word out on his tongue. Synonymous with strength. His mind wandered back to Ara, and how she would've protested the idea of going through a legal loophole to continue doing street fighting. She always thought it was barbaric and cruel, but Ara was dead and gone, and he was the one still breaking his back trying to get by.
I'm sorry, Ara.
With a heavy heart, he said, "I'd like that."
. . .
Gihan was a ball of nerves as he was about to step on ring for his first Earth Rumble tournament. He wasn't even in the main room yet, and he could already hear the loud cheers of the audience who were eagerly awaiting this match. The idea turned out to be a big hit among the Gaoling residents, and hundreds of people were here tonight, watching the first-ever Earth Rumble tournament.
"You ready, kid?" asked a familiar voice from behind him. Gihan turned his head to see Xin Fu approaching him, clapping him on the shoulder in a congratulatory manner. "Don't worry, you'll be great out there."
"Thanks," replied Gihan, "Any last tips?"
Xin Fu smiled. "Make sure you caricaturize yourself; make yourself more simple, more one-dimensional, and easier to understand. Crowds like easy to understand."
"Got it."
Xin Fu looked down at his watch. "Look like it's time to get this show on the road," he declared.
Gihan watched as the older man stepped onto the ring, hyping the audience up for a few minutes. It worked well, as the crowd began screaming and cheering even louder. Then, he gestured to where Gihan was supposed to make his big entrance.
"Folks, let's give it up for — THE BOULDER!"
The crowd cheering themselves into a frenzy when Gihan — The Boulder — stepped onto the ring.
"And now, folks," Xin Fu continued, "Let's give a warm welcome to — THE GECKO!"
Gihan, uh, The Boulder made some taunting remarks to his opponent before starting. The rest of the match was a blur for The Boulder but he ended up winning his first ever match and he won a handsome prize. But out of the entire event, the one and only thing that really stuck out to him was when he looked down at the ground beneath him after the match.
He felt blood dripping down from his nose and onto the ground, and he saw it once more. The red against tan, the blood against stone.
He paled and felt sick all over again as he realized that he would have to see this visual again and again, for many more times to come. He could've just quit Earth Rumble, but where would that leave him? Back on the streets, holding up signs for random tea shops. No, he had to stick this out. And he could stick it out, as well.
Because, as he began waving at the cheering crowds, he reminded himself of something:
I am The Boulder. And I am strong.
A/N: So I guess I didn't realize how powerful certain visuals are until a few weeks ago when I saw this old shirt I had, and I was immediately brought back to a memory of me wearing that particular shirt and playing with my cousins. The same thing happened a few days later, except with a certain scent. And, yeah, I decided to take the creative liberty in assuming that A.) The Boulder's birthname wasn't The Boulder and that B.) The Boulder's personality of "my only character traits are referring to myself in the third person, being the literal personification of the word 'meathead', and — ooh, look at my big muscles!" (while it is certainly humorous and iconic) isn't his original, genuine personality, but rather a caricature of himself that he created for publicity purposes and eventually settled into.
With that being said, I'm officially all out of requests (but I still have a few ideas I'm working on atm), so feel free to leave some requests in the reviews. As always, any feedback/criticism/request is always happily welcomed.