A creeping inferno incinerated Roland's calves. The biting sensations climbed. Images of fire danced as he imagined himself lashed to a stake, and set aflame. Persecuted over lies by the liars themselves like his witchy ancestors. Bass rattled as he tried to breathe through the pain. He huffed. He groaned. He lifted.
Each increased heartbeat circulated a fresh batch of fury. Done wrong, Roland went to work, steering the ferocity of his anger upon himself. He'd spent the last two months a torch, a Phoenix nested in the gym, bathing in the flames of his fury, fuelled with a taste for vengeance.
The grip of the bar pulled at Roland's calluses as he squatted. Up and down, again and again, lifting to his toes, pushing, pushing, pushing. Exhaust from the inexhaustible engine within poured from his flared nostrils. Roland didn't bother looking at the clock, nor counting his reps, he was going for total annihilation.
As satisfying as it would be, he knew taking his anger out on others was far from the smartest strategy. Still couldn't stop the emotion from existing. Roland sanctioned his efforts. Rather than lose his cool, yell, or worse, he unleashed that energy inward. When he wanted to strike he hit the weights. When he wanted to shout he screamed within like a drill sergeant. Motivating himself each morning from the moment his eyes opened. He'd make them suffer with his silence. And turn the sadistic unkindnesses he wished upon them against himself. Lowering his calories, restricting his diet, cutting comforts. Focused like an assassin on his body of revenge.
He loved the smell of the gym, the disinfectants, the rubber, the antique body odour. The silence in the dead of night, the quiet hum of the fans in the morning. The emptiness of the space filled him. First to arrive. Last to leave. Most days he would push for two sets, first lifting, then cardio. Drenching himself in sweat. And when he needed a rest day he rested hard. Roland was on a mission. They would suffer. While his morals tied his hands from making their lives a living hell, his demons were more than happy to turn his body into a brimstone paradise.
Roland pushed again. He pushed forward, he pushed through, he pushed himself. Pouring the channelled suffering over his own head like gasoline. His legs extended, the bar bounced, and the burden leaned again on his shoulders. The muscles in his left thigh began to twitch, his leg shake. Acidic sweat peeled from his brow past his eye. His problems, his hurt manifested like a cackling face. Roland dropped down to his heels and rocketed upright like a fist. He hammered at the illusion, imagining its soft flesh turning to bloody putty under his force. Again he dropped, again he popped, pummelling over and over. Forging himself under the heavy metallic bar.
His steps stuttered forward. The steel clattered to its resting place, screaming in unison with his calves. Roland's stride suffered as he made his way to a bench for a break. A rough towel wiped at his soaking brow. Despite the vague plastic odour from his bottle the lukewarm water was sweet, and he gulped it with gratitude. The aches in his body felt good. His heavy breaths felt better. Over his shoulder he caught himself in the mirror, swigged more, and smiled. Consequences from his conspiracy were unfolding, changes were happening.
From the underbelly of his psyche his unresolved pains began their call to war again, and Roland stood to meet them. He laboured back to the squat rack, and slipped a small weight over each end, increasing the load by a few pounds. His head ducked and he settled under the steel, shifting his feet into position. Roland nodded to the beat in his headphones and sucked in a deep breath. He let it go and pulled again, waiting for the music to reach its peak intensity. The drums began to build, and his heartbeat followed suit. Roland lifted the bar from the rack, let it rest on his shoulders and stepped back. The beat dropped, and with a quick wink to his mirrored reflection, so did Roland.
The strain, the anger, the exhaustion, the fury, and the will to push shone back at him, stoking his internal resolve as he dipped and rose. The emotions burned. The bar settled. Roland could feel the soft flutters of the ceiling fan cooling his stinging sweat as he leaned against the rack. Another smile was hard to stop. After a quick glance around the empty gym Roland allowed himself a vain flex. The wicked grin grew a little larger. He basked in what remained of his muscle's heated glow a little longer, all while eyeballing the bar. That stupid stick, a key to unlocking the closed doors within.
Another drop of sweat bombed from his hairline. In the stain of his palm he saw salty salvation. The forgotten elixir. Water, the life bringer, a transformative potion. He sipped from his bottle, letting the water rain to his ocean, and fed the salted inner body. The sweat, the tears, the sea released, capturing the impurities, taking them to the surface. Anger flared, and he pressed, grabbing the load for another terrorizing round. He'd turned his sword, and carved himself, whittling away at their rot. Heat flushed to determination, and he inched until the bar reached its resting beds. Roland dropped the burden from his shoulders, and alleviation turned to euphoria. The emotional alchemist smiled as he stretched his shaking limbs.
Thanks for reading! Be sure to check out the previous 12 part collection of Zoditraxx, and consider the other side of subtle dualities.
-Mr. Write
PS: Be sure to check out Exaggerated Shadow’s new release for Scorpeedos Away! on all your favourite streaming platforms!