We are men

Chapter 1 "We are Men"
"we are men of passion, not men of fear!"

His voice sends shivers down my spine as I stare into the shadows that hide his bludgeoned face and sinewy muscle. I can hear his exhales weeze through a broken nose.

"We are Men of strength, NOT men of opportunity."

I can hear his footsteps as his mysterious and hidden frame cricles around, closing in on me. I feel his warm breath surrounding me and seemingly draping me into the depths of hell.

"WE are men of GLORY. not men of Gluttony!"

I can feel him close now, so close I could reach out and grab his shirt collar and punch his face in, I could stop these words, stop his control, let loose and finally give up. But, I don't; he steps infront of me I can feel his eyes staring into myne, although I am unable to stare back into his.

"WE ARE MEN OF PAIN! WE ARE NOT MEN OF PLEASURE."

It is then I feel the shock wave of pain erupt through my ribs, it spreads engulfing my insides, tracing my spine, and finally nesting in my brain. The hit was powerful and precise, similar to a fist, but I know what it was. He has just decided to use my ribs as an object to bash his baton against to close it. I feel my body tell me to crumble, but my mind stops me..

"If you fall, you fail! if you fail, YOU DIE..."

that's what he would say, When we first started and that is what he still says now. Of course he never killed me when I fell, but he left his presence be known. There I stood absorbing every abusive assault he could come up with. And everything washed over me, my life before the training, my life before the He smiled upon me, My life before I was welcomed into the Demons In Training Office.. DITO.

Chapter 2 "Only the dead sleep easy"
The morning after one of those sessions you can hardly feel your muscles as they constrict and relax to lift yourself from a lying position to a sitting position. A familiar fog clouds my vision of this 7 X 8 foot room. I swear I have heard of entire catholic families living in shoes larger than this small accomadation I call my quaint abode. I try to lift my arm to rub my eyes. I feel a rhythm of pain vibrate down my forearm through my bicep and straight across my shoulders, finally nesting in my spine. I let out a silent moan followed by a sickening crack, another familiar occurence.

The crack signals the lovely tingles like satan's fork on my feet. I glance at the clock at see 6:35 in bright bulging computer font. my gut begins to remble which means I have a hard choice to make. 25 minutes untilI have to start my work out. Should I go for a breakfast or a shower. I scartch my back as I make my decision. I smell my sweat ridden shirt and decide "WEll, if I am just going to get sweaty again in half zan hour no real point in taking a shower."

I stand up and jog downstairs where I find a pot of oatmeal, sugarless, cinnamonless, completely flavorless in fact. I scoop a heap out and splatter it down on a plate. The oatmeal is old and definitely over cooked. It almost stands tall in one massive blob. I don't take the normal "poking" time you would deem necessary in such an event but simply cram the food down. as I swallow the last bite I hear his footsteps coming down from upstairs. I throw my dishes into the sink. and spray a little water on them. I run to the gym room and lay back on the bench. I lift the bar up.

"misery is in the eyes of the beholder..."

his voice is almost comforting in a fatehrly sort of way; but his words carry waves of fear into my heart.

"youu can look upon one man with your own eyes and see a jolly joe jogging joyously down the lane..."

I push the bar up as I exhale and inhale with it's descent back onto my chest.

"But, this man can stare into a mirror and see nothing more than a miserable soul!"

"Yes Sir" these words drip from my tongue like unswallowable globs of saliva.

He circles the bench now, watching me lower and raise the bar and attached weights. My triceps tighten and my chest clenches.

"By now in your training, I doubt you are sleeping well..."

"NO SIR..." bursts from my mouth almost as a sneeze or cough.

"Yes, but that is your strength. YOu are learning to not need sleep. Because in the end you really never sleep. Tell me.. before training did you sleep?"

"YES SIR.." the words exit my body like a projectile vomit, and seem to stain these walls alongside his words.

"but, let me guess you also.. dreamt. And if you dreamt you had nightmares. if you had nightmares.. you never really rested. Am I Correct?"

"yes sir.." this time it is more aof a weeze as I am nearing my 15 repition.

"then would you say as long as your mind functions, in the way the general public describes as 'normal' you never get a chance to truly sleep easy. Forever doomed to fret over the past days events and the next days promises"

"Yes Sir.." this time I feel it belch from my lower throat. With it comes a bit of an oatmeally taste, with an acid chaser.

"AND THAT IS WHY YOU ARE HERE!!! To kill your mind, god gave you a body for a reason. All your nerves, all your ligaments, all your organs they already know what they need to do. And they do it. I am here to kill you, my son. Because truly.. ONLY THE DEAD SLEEP EASY!"

I drop the bar on the rack above my head. Sweat now beads on my forehead. I stare straight up at the ceiling. He looks over the bar and straight down at me.

"You know, you smell like serious vinegar covered dog shit, right?"

I try to stare at him, but the sweat rolls into my eyes and I must shut at least one to reduce the stinging.

"Hit the fucking shower"

I roll off the bench and stare at the floor. The finish is chipped and non-existent in large amoeba shaped blobs. If you look to closely you get caught staring at the smaller filled in amoeba being consumed by the larger invisible blob. You start imaginging their stories. Little amoeba babies and an amoeba wife at home, who will never see daddy again. Thinking about this family makes you think of your family. Thinking of your family.. pisses you off. And this is a daily occurence for me. Memories are a man's worst enemy. dwelling in the past is the easiest way to die.

I walk up the stairs and slip into teh bathroom. I slip out of my clothes; that cling to me in a last effort to not be left behind. I stare at my naked self in the mirror. I am bruised and tired. You can see nothing in my eyes. But you can see a power in my body. Veins bulging, muscles defined almsot out of granite. I turn on the water and stare as it slow swirls down into the drain. I step in and feel the heat cascade down my back, until dripping from gouche. I stare into the murky water.

"Love is a lie, inside of an illusion, inside of a fairy tale. Love is what the brain made up to give the heart a reason to beat. Love is a myth created to keep the slaves in submission, to keep the weak in line, and to keep the hopeless alive."

He is collecting my dirty clothes and laying out new clean clothes on the sink for me. I feel the oatmeal rise up my esophagus and across my tongue, inbetween my teeth and then project from y teeth. I close my eyes, and know if I open them the sight of it will make me have to again; and then I would have wished I would've just skipped breakfast.

The bathroom door closes....