When you begin to ameliorate your movement, your greatness, your act in life, the energy settle the items about. The energy can be created by your mind, the single most powerful contained matter on Earth, beginning to attract more positive atoms surrounding. The objects crack, like the earth settling from the energy of an earthquake. The atoms come together by your want, desire, passion and dedication, creating more positivity. The goal is now at your fingertips, and the objective carrying a lovely aroma of completion.
But, sometimes this simulation of a magnetic field begin to grow so sudden that it attract the negative atoms. Coming together like a banshee from hell. When this occurs, Life has found a kink in your armor. A weakness that has been exposed because you were too careless for precautions, too naive of the world, or, too dumb for your own good.
I was in a sparring match with heavier opponent's. Ten rounds of sparring with two different partners. This particular boxing gym has been rated by boxers and boxing experts around the world to be of the highest caliber and rankings in the boxing sport. Only the top boxers come here to display their boxing abilities, and to create a name that would be respected and remembered.
The sparring has caused my blood to be warm. The metaphysical constant of the blue and green world fueled the anger within me, thickening the testosterone and rage. Life dawned to be frail and feeble, soft and weak at heart. It did not contain tenacity and ferociousness required in combative sporting. Afflicting pain for a sport that declared a loser by an applausive praise. Instead, Life tenderly blessed humanity with sporting games of laughter and play. It did not grasp reason but saw hand to hand combat sports as a diminishing of man, a barbaric stone age in biography. However, this trait allowed me to fight strive to become the number one prospect in Professional Boxing.
His power is heavy. He slugs me with a left hook I hadn't seen. The peripheral vision failed to operate, leaving myself vulnerable. The unseen, surprising left hook rattled my brain against my skull, almost like a paint can. My vision turned black. The impact of his thudding punch ignited a car bomb, coming to a ring and overpowering all noise about the room. The vision and hearing grew back, and the mind boosted the adrenaline, increasing my pain tolerance and strength. Outside the boxing ring was talkative and noisy. My first reaction is to swing; to never appear hurt was the golden rule of a boxer. I couldn’t show weakness and I never accepting the pain, so I chuck the hands with colossal strength. He stumbled back on his heels. I beat my chest like a gorilla and vocalize my anger. The crowd about the room felt my animosiy, and they grew with rage, and laughter too. Their pleasant applause boosted my ego, and a wave of euphoria come over me like a crashing wave. For everything I ever dreamed of, ever wanted when performing in front of a crowd was to display my excellent skills as a boxer.
The left hook he threw was surprisingly fast. Too fast for my speed perception. The punch was hard enough to alter the mind into thinking I had been here before; dejavu. I knew this couldn't be possible and hadn't actually taken place. Past events in memory playing like a movie reel. But how would I know if this is true. How would I decipher reality from dream. I tried. Foreshadowing the outcome of this fight. Would I win? I could never know.
Holding my guard tight I finish through the round playing the role as the dominant fighter, continuously pressing the opponent to the ropes. Thirty seconds before the end of the round the sound buzzer rings warning of the end, and I flare with intense power for I have become dark in the mind, oblivious of the future. Round ten has ended. The spectators whom had been huddled about the ring pleasingly applaud to our performance, and I retire back to the corner. My boxing Coach takes off my head gear and I use my teeth to peel off the taped gloves.
Coach questions my wellness, “How do you feel?”
I reply winded in breath, “Good.”
Coach nods pleasantly then continues on, correcting my recent errors.
“You kept getting caught with the left hook." Coach stated foiledly. "Why didn’t you roll?”
As a fighter with the lethargically egotistic mannerism I contain, I must never show weakness, nor fear. I should never express my pain or any discomfort that came to me in a boxing ring. The sport that tested another man's will power, and heart, to the toughest man I knew. My coach, my father.
My head falls under my shoulders, for I have grown vulnerable by the results. I respond in accident, “I can’t see the left hook.”
As I retire home from the sparring session, where my heart can find time in rest, I contemplate my next move. But I cannot seem to shake my foggy eyes. This problem I come across drew a blind spot in my vision, disrupting the right peripheral. There had been a curtain to come over my sight. The right peripheral of my vision had been engulfed by a black hole, turning picture into static. The black hole was my weakness, allowing all punches on my right to pummel through unseen.
I was too prideful to evade his punches, too careless to move, too dumb for my own good. I must address medical attention.