“I won’t continue this.”
Jacob is off of me and stalking away.
We haven’t sparred in quite a while. Mostly due to the weather and partly because I’m not in it. My head is no where near where it should be, nor my spirit.
But today, for whatever reason, I called on Fight Club.
Jacob and I had squared off for the second time. It got particularly grapply towards the end. I was down, landing hard on my shoulder, Jacob’s arms secured firmly around my neck. There was no denying my death. All he had to do was squeeze and either my neck’d be snapped off or I’d choke to death.
No matter.
He asked me to yield.
I refused.
I can’t.
I just…can’t.
Which is why he stalked away in anger and frustration. Damn you people with your caring shit.
He thinks it because of my pride. I don’t know if that’s true, maybe it is, but I think it has more to do with the fact that I have a deathwish.
I always have.
No secret.
I have fought in anger. I have fought in pain. I have fought in a myriad of emotions. I have always been reckless.
Today, however, the part of me that was unlocked and surfaced was none of these things. It was the part of me that never cared. The part of me that still doesn’t care. The part of me that hates with far more emotion than my consciousness does.
The part of me that wants me to get killed.
I have a deathwish.
I always have.
I always will.
Don’t scare me when you live across the world >:-|
It doesn’t /have/ to be a deathwish. Or pride (Pryde?). It could simply be the beserker in you. Or the drive to continue in the face of insurmountable odds. We don’t always call that a “deathwish”. Sometimes it’s called “valor”.
(Okay, sometimes it’s called “stupidity”, too, but it’s all relative and contextual anyway, so why not be valient 24/7, eh?)