Apparently, I'm not actually learning karate. I'm learning a variation of it called neo-karate. Borris forgot to tell me this. There's a lot Borris forgot to tell me about this situation. Like, for example, the fact that Alfred will always say "Terribly sorry, Master," every time he hits you. That may not seem bad, but Alfred hit me a lot of times today, and every single god-damn time he did so, he said it. It was the tone of voice as well. Something was definitely off.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Today I had my first neo-karate lesson. Before I had to go into the mostly unused room we were using as a dojo (since these were private lessons, I could have them in my own house if I wanted to), I had to meditate in peace for half an hour. Unfortunately, as soon as I quieted my mind, the horrors lurking beneath it emerged. That night replayed over and over and over in my head. I tried to focus on other matters, such as the way my heart was beating, or the feel of my bum on the floor, or just to simply clear my mind, but the image persisted like a hornet stampede.

I saw my mother, eyes terrified and hopeless as she was brutally murdered. The eyes were the worst part of the image. They were worse than the way the necklace sliced through my mother's neck, cutting it in two, and smearing those priceless gems and my mother's even more priceless neck with blood. The eyes were still worse than the way my mother's head dropped off her body and fell onto the floor with an uncaring thud. They were worse than my mother's body falling shortly afterwards, the leak on top spurting gallons now that it had been unscrewed.

The eyes were the worst part of that image because all of the joy, the laughter, and the love that my mother had possessed, had been rooted out and replaced by fear and hopelessness. They were the worst because, as the necklace sliced through her skin, you could see the eyes giving one last prayer to her God, and then the light in them that had given me comfort throughout the entirety of my life was extinguished. I hate the lullness that was in my mother's eyes afterwards. Maybe that's why we close the eyes of the dead. Because we just can't bear that cold look in them that tells you that their owner is genuinely dead. You could perhaps believe a corpse is sleeping if you viewed it only moments after it died, but the eyes would give it away. I was the one who had closed my parents' eyes.

I failed at achieving inner calm and peace during meditation. I failed at focusing on my surroundings. I failed at clearing my mind. But what I did get was a renewed sense of anger and purpose for my goal. I need that anger to achieve my goal, and I believe it also helped me get up again whenever I failed in my performance at my first neo-karate lesson.

I went into the dojo shortly after I'd finished my meditation. There was a quick interval between these events where I grabbed a small piece of ham as a snack to cool my risen nerves. Alfred was waiting for me at the dojo. He, too, had just finished his meditation session.

"Ah, Master Bruce," he said, "Glad you finally decided to join us. Now let's begin."

To my surprise I spotted that Borris was also in the room.

"You're also learning neo-karate?" I asked.

"Duh," said Borris, "I'm going to be with you if you threaten anyone, meaning I also need to be able to defend myself."

"Oh, of course," I said, feeling stupid for not realising this earlier.

Then, I realised what he'd said in front of Alfred, and, panicking, I looked over at him, but he was perfectly relaxed.

Borris, seeing the direction of my gaze, said, "Oh, and you don't need to worry about Alfred. He knows."

"I do not mind your goal," said Alfred, "It's an honourable one."

"Thanks, Alfred," I said, "See, Borris? That's how you be supportive!"

"Point taken, Bruce."

"Attention, Masters!" said Alfred.

We gave him our attention.

"Please don't make me order you to do things," Alfred continued, "It ruins our whole dynamic."

"Sorry, Alfred," Borris said.

"No, don't go apologising for it! You just made it worse!" complained Alfred, "Let's try again. I'm going to try to punch you, and you have to try to block me, Borris. But only if you want me to, of course."

"I want you to," said Borris, "Punch me hard, you peasant butler."

"Now you're getting it! Thank you, Master," said Alfred, and walked up and punched Borris in the arm.

Borris stumbled and regained his feet.

"I'm so sorry for punching you, Master! Are you okay?" asked Alfred.

"Don't worry about it, Alfred, but if you do it again, you'll be fired," said Borris.

He seemed to actually be enjoying this.

"Don't worry, Master," said Alfred, "I won't hit you again."

He then proceeded to punch Borris in the spot on his arm beneath the spot on which he had previously punched him.

"Oww!" said Borris, "Alfred! You've been a very bad servant! I'm going to punish you!"

"Only if you hit me first!" said Alfred.

"Oh, well you've got some tongue alright!" countered Borris.

They fought for a bit, continuing to shout similar lines at each other, with Alfred relentlessly hitting Borris and very much enjoying it. After ten minutes of this, they broke up to drink some water. Their bags were on either side of the room, so Alfred couldn't hear me as I went up to Borris and spoke to him.

"That was weird," I said.

"Yep," said Borris, "Alfred's a real weird guy."

"My question is: Why are you role-playing back with him?"

"Oh, it's part of the contract we have with him. We have to role-play within our lessons, or he's not going to teach us anything."

"Why did we even hire him then?"

"He's among the best neo-karate teachers in the world, and the others were too busy, so we're stuck with him. Besides, he's not too bad, and he serves a mean cup of coffee and biscuits."

"Do I also have to role-play?"

"Obviously. I can't have all the fun. In fact, your turn is right after this drink break."

"Fuck."

My turn turned out to indeed be after the drink break.

"Now," said Alfred, "Master Bruce. Shall I try to punch you while you try to block me?"

"Say yes," whispered Borris.

Alfred knocked me to the ground on first try. I got a bout of anger from my parents' deaths. I stood back up. Alfred knocked me back down, saying "Terribly sorry, Master" every single bloody time. Repeat.

Eventually, after approximately ten minutes of this, Alfred asked me, "Shall we stop, Master Wayne?"

My bones were aching, my muscles were screaming, and my face was wondering what it had done to me, and I almost accepted Alfred's offer, but then I imagined looking at his smug little creep-face when I said yes and I said, "You know what? Let's continue."

I was determined to get at least one punch in. Unfortunately for my goal, Alfred is the real shit. We spent another ten frustrating minutes of me getting knocked down and then getting knocked down again. My roleplay grew more and more bitter as I continuously missed my punches, but this just seemed to make Alfred more and more happier.

Once the ten minutes were up, Alfred said, "I'm sorry, Master, but this is why you are training in the first place. You'll get better than me eventually."

Adding to this, Borris said, "Come on, Bruce. This is just a round to test our skill level, and the roleplay is an added bonus. We still need to do our actual lesson for today."

I took this into account, but that punching session had made me even more angrier than I had been previously. It clouded my thoughts. I was going to get that punch no matter what.

"No," I said, "Let's push this to thirty minutes."

"Bruce..." said Borris.

"No, no," said Alfred, "I like the determination."

And so we fought for ten more minutes. Alfred surprisingly still held on, especially considering his age. No wonder he's considered one of the best in the world. As for me, I was extremely disappointed. I know I'm just a beginner, but I was going against an old man for thirty full minutes, and I still couldn't get a single punch in! Yet I kept going for the full ten more minutes.

Every time I was knocked down- every single time- I thought back to my attempted meditation session a few minutes earlier. Images flashed through my eyes, of my mother and my father. It worked every time. I got a boost of sudden anger and adrenaline and stood back up. I could tell that even Alfred was impressed.

"Your anger gives you strength, Master," he said as he punched me down again.

It beat "Terribly sorry, Master," by a mile.

Another ten minutes soon went by, and by the end of it, I was sweating profusely. Gigantic patches of wetness spread across my uniform, and I'm almost certain I have a bruise on my face now.

"Again," I said.

"I'm sorry, Master Wayne," said Alfred, "As much as I'd like to fight again, we really must begin the lessons."

I bowed down my head in shame and anger at not getting a punch in, but I nodded.

Alfred, taking pity on me, then said, "I tell you what, Master Wayne? How about I let you punch me, just this once, without doing any sort of blocking? Consider it a reward for your dedication."

I looked up.

"Really?" I said.

"Really," confirmed Alfred.

And so I finally got the punch I'd waited thirty minutes to get. It felt good, and it helped get out some of the anger that had been swirling in my head all day.

We then actually began the lesson, much to Borris' relief. We learned about the structure of the Snail-Hand, and the formation of the Hand of Destiny. These are, Alfred told us, the very basic formations of neo-karate, and yet they were still pretty difficult. We had to practise for twenty more minutes before both of us got the hang of it.

And you know what? Maybe Alfred isn't so bad after all.