Y’know, I fucking wonder sometimes why I’m here. I’ve lost everyday since Downfall for some fucking reason. Whether it is by my team mates, or some other unbeknownst reason, I managed to somehow find my place backstage, brooding over yet another loss. Well, y’know what? Fuck it. Fuck Frost Inc. Fuck The Vine. Fuck Nikita. Fuck Pete Ebdon. Fuck Nicholas Jaxx. Fuck Andrew Ashton. Fuck The Minister or whoever the fuck you are. Fuck the fans. Just, fuck everyone.
Can ya sense the rage here? Really? I can’t. I’ve only just begun. Honestly, I could rant on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, if I wanted to. But of course… what does it matter to you? So yeah… fuck off.
These thoughts ran rampant though her brain. But who was she talking to? Hell, even she didn’t know. Hunched over forward, Gwenivere rolled a role of white tape around her knuckles. The fabric-like tape was ripped with her teeth and her nimble, but battered fingers pressed the end of the tape down against the rest of it. She flexed her hand, stretching out the tape a bit. She popped her back once, moving her arm in a brief circle before moving over to the bench press. She laid back, fingers curling around the bar of the barbells. She settled herself into the bench, letting out a slow breath before heaving the weights up.
“It’s impossible… you’ll never be a champ again…”
Gwenivere dropped the barbells back onto the rack and sat straight up, looking around the gym. It was empty, save for her reflection in the far wall. She stared at herself, confused. The voice had been disembodied and sort of echoing as the words were spoken. The words were said rather slowly, the voice raspy and guttural. It was slightly frightening to hear. Slowly, she let out a slow breath, standing up and moving onto the leg press. She gripped the stabilizers and began to push forward with her legs, staring at her bandaged knees as they crooked upwards and went straight.
“No matter how hard you train, you’re never gonna win…”
Gwenivere stopped mid-thrust, staring up at mirror again. Slowly, she took in a deep breath, taking another slow look around the gym. She stood up cautiously, moving over to the mirror. Slowly, one hand pressed against it, leaving a sweat mark on the reflective surface. Her brow furrowed a little bit as she moved over to the punching bag, fingers curling into tight fists, dulled nails pressing into the tape. Her right fist connected, causing the heavy bag to remain motionless.
“You’ll never make anything of yourself…”
Gwenivere winced slightly, chewing on her bottom lip. She didn’t stop, nor look did she glance around her. Her fists grew fiercer, forcing the heavy back to begin to sway back and forth.
“You’ll never be as good as they are…”
Gwenivere winced slightly, her back being sent into a small group of spasms. She stumbled back from the punching bag, one swinging back to hold her back. She pressed her back against the wall, wincing as she slid down the wall and onto the floor. Her legs stretched out in front of her, her head tilting back to rest against the wall. She cursed quietly beneath her breath, closing her eyes tightly.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Wincing again, Gwenivere shrank down against the floor, laying down. She stared up at the ceiling, crystal blue eyes wide with an almost morbid wonderment. Her breath was shallow, though her heart raced within her ribcage. As she lay there, alone in the gym, her life flashed before her eyes. Was this death? Close enough to it. A short-lived affair with a profession.
You say it’s impossible for me to become a champion again…
I say that “impossible” is just an opinion… your opinion…
Not a fact.
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