Dark rooms
Hush! Hush!
The echoing sounds of him punching the bag filled the darkness of the room as combinations of jabs, hooks, and straights angrily devouring the bag. It was already late. Lifters had left the gym hours ago, and Louie, the owner of the place, almost finished mopping the floor. Although Louie was only a few meters away, he can’t see him as the room has terrible lighting — part of the effort to reduce the bills. He can only hear him as the floor constantly makes squeaking noises.
It’s fair to say that the gym had passed its glory days. Some part of its floors started to take a toll on some of the unfortunate feet and cracks had become decorative features on its walls. The majority of its machines were antiques so that newcomers would often become reluctant to use them. Lifters would constantly complain about its ancient nature, but Louie has no choice. It has already a couple of months late on its rent and tax notices from the state have piled up.
The echoing sounds of him punching the bag filled the darkness of the room as combinations of jabs, hooks, and straights angrily devouring the bag.
“Get a move on, will you son? I ain’t got a whole life left to live! Bloody hell”
The voice of the grumpy old man stopped his punches in an instant. He tried to catch his breath and looked deep into the bag. As he made his way into the lockers, he felt an agonizing sensation creeping in his body and it became increasingly unbearable. He felt his stomach is burning, and he started to wonder if he had any gunshot wounds. His sights turn into total darkness and his ears started to buzz. Eventually, he fell hard onto the freezing bathroom floor. As he tried to regain any strength left in his body, he sits on the noxious floor, pitied only by the buzzing neon lights.
He knew that this day would come. He knew that one day, he would feel like dying. He has doubled up his training routines these past few weeks and it has taken a huge toll on his body. His body is failing him. And this isn’t the first time. His colleagues told him that he wouldn’t survive any longer if he keeps his torturing routines, but he had no choice. The fight is getting closer, a fight that he simply cannot lose. It would be the biggest gamble on his life — it would be his Vegas. They say many people come to Vegas to lose, but he isn’t one of those. He knew that he has it — the eye of the tiger. But no matter how hard he tried to get up, his body keeps on failing him.
“Tryin’ to get yourself killed son? Better not to do it in my gym!”
Out from the lights, Louie came in and lend his hand — as God would help His believers. His grip isn’t as strong as it was back in the days. As for the gym, Louie also had passed his glory days, and no matter how hard he tries to deny it, his wrinkly hands keep reminding him. Wrinkles all over his face would tell people of his story — mementos of him surviving countless battles that he can’t win. It’s fair to say that he had fought the worst, the pain of losing someone he truly loves. The lights once so luminous are slowly fading away.
As he made his way onto the lockers, his stare would freeze onto one side of the walls. Upon the cracked walls, pictures of muscular men filled the wall, throwing a mighty stare. Its fading colors would send chills on everyone and its cracked corners would send breezes to their skin. Anyone that has ever stare at them knew how big the pictures mean for them — they would kill women and children to be one of those pictures, including him. Some people made it, but some people don’t. Some men bloomed, but some others withered along the way. Why? Why would someone give their life for a single purpose? How grand is it so that men would ride their horses over the wall and swing their swords? Will he make it? Will he become one of those pictures? His questions were left up in the air. All he knew is that he needs to keep throwing punches.
Louie threw his warm smile at him, a rare smile that only the luckiest men would have a glance of, throwing him his old tracksuit. As he thanked Louie, he jumped in his old tracksuits, limping his way onto the freezing street.
It would be the biggest gamble on his life — it would be his Vegas.
On his way home, he stopped by at an old chapel. He’s not a believer. After all, he trusts gold more than he trusts Him. But this is one of those days. The chapel is old and deserted. Its doors would greet anyone who opens it, longing for someone to shake their hands. The chapel has a medieval-style interior, with paintings filled its walls, and mosaics all over its gigantic windows, absorbing every sprinkle of light the moon throws at. As he opened the door, he felt the solemnity and warmth greeted him in an instant. Under the gloomy light, he approached the back rows and sit on the lonely bench.
As he says his grace, a middle-aged woman sitting across him caught his attention. She has fair skin, and have fewer wrinkles than Louie. In silence, she says her grace as tears coming out of her eyes. All of a sudden, her cry broke the silence, and her hands were shaking as if it has been snowing inside. The look on her face told him that she had gone through a hard fight. That she almost lost all hopes she has left. That she has lost every strength to stand. That she had crawled in darkness, begging that she would find a light that would guide her, scraping for divine hands.
Some people made it, but some people don’t. Some men bloomed, but some others withered along the way.
As he started to pity her, his eyes stunned in despair. He cries to the sky, piling on the unanswered questions. Humans throw their punches and say their prayers in the darkest rooms, but how many of them would feel the warmth of the sun?
How many of them would be lucky enough to turn the darkness into spotlights? They had their fair share of storms, why is it only a few that would see the silver linings?
Isn’t it a sadistic act to abandon the people who creep in darkness? Whose will is it? Is it the sky? Or is it Heaven’s will?
Why can’t humans be freed from fear and despair?
Or is it our nature?
