Introduction or another short story

Salty sweat leaked down his cheeks like small rivers in mountainside, his face threatened to break down, his eyes were squeezed and tight and offered a look of despondency. His eyes betrayed his mind, his mind that wanted to keep on going, push his legs and his arms further ignoring all the screaming and screeching that pulsated out of his muscles. His mouth drew a scorn and bruised look. The corners of his lips reigned in tight and fought against his un-natural un-animalistic instincts that went against his body.

I could see this all this on his face, this was a fascinating gentleman. For, he seemed to be striving for so much, so much, that meant so little. I could see him breaking himself down, destroying his soul and his body as he kept on going, blood and sweat suffocating his face. For a victory that would buy him just fleeting seconds of happiness, what had occurred in this man’s life that made him so desperate for victory? I thought, for a moment, that I might take pity on him, maybe let him win. For if I did not, maybe this man may take his own life, or perhaps drive himself to the edges of insanity.

The man opposite me is my number 1 enemy. He is my arch nemesis my foe, he is a terrible man. He is lazy, a sluggard, he is arrogant and seeks only to destroy those that are good. He does not try like me; he does not sacrifice his body through exercise like me. He does not fast and wear down his bones for Jesus like me. He does not meditate or practice prayer on the top of mountains early in the morning before dawn breaks like me, and yet, I cannot seem to drown him, I cannot seem to find where it is that he gets his power from. I believe it must be from the devil himself. Or perhaps this man is the devil himself. Thus, I must destroy this man, put an end to his victorious streak, for, it is what is good for humankind. I swear it, this man in front of me is the devil brought up from the gates of hell to spread misery and pain to those that pronounce themselves of men of God. He must be, for where else must he get his power from?

Why must he sell his soul ? I ask myself. He swings at me wildly; I notice it coming long before he realizes and swiftly and easily dodge his punch. Warm breath and spit fly out the small man’s mouth as he misses his punch. His body follows his arm and for a moment he loses control of himself, but he keeps coming back, despite the exhaustion I see in him, he carries on. I know right now that I could break this man in half decisively. But I feel terrible, knowing that if I beat this man, if I win this fight, will it be a win? A win for me perhaps, for 10 seconds I will indulge in the selfish glory of victory. But after that, I will look across the ring at my opponent, and I would fear the thing I may have created. A festering, bubbling pool of anger and hatred that would burn the man alive from the inside out would manifest itself in the roots of his heart. The man may kill himself, or even worse come back stronger, fuller of deadly desire to win, not just win but destroy his opponents. I fear what a man with that psychology may do to those around him. A win for me. But perhaps a loss for humankind ?

I will not lose. He screamed it in his head, his lungs could not draw breath, his heart was beating like an African drum. Harsh palpitations stung like a bee in the middle of his chest. His bodily fluids stirred around in him like a Ferriss wheel, but he did not give up. He kept going as his moral compass said he should. He had not stopped reading the bible. A particular proverb about self-discipline and sluggardness stirred up in him. he knew these were the things that God hated in men. And he was determined not to have them encompassed in himself. He would reject such devilish traits. Devilish traits that the man opposite him he believed he possessed.                                                                                                                              Deep in his heart, he would question God from time to time, God why do you drive me to such heights? He would etch out in desperation, is my life so important that I must be the one to step forward and carry the cross, I cannot do what it is that you ask of me lord, why choose me lord? Am I the strongest one ? if you really are who you say you are, omni-potent and the like. What stops you from wiping out the demon in front of me yourself ? why must you use me ? do you not see my broken bones ? my broken heart and destroyed mind ? God, what good will come of this sacrifice that you have subjected me to? His heart would yearn and desperately scream for answers. It would squeeze and flush in his chest and nothing would come up.                                                                                But suddenly again he would switch, and he would fuel himself with an empty narcissism that would sustain him. He would answer his questions I am the strongest, I am the best, God has called me because I am the smartest one, the quickest. I am the greatest and God wants me to kill the devil for the good of mankind, for if he is not stopped by me, he will continue to devour and eat at the hearts and souls of the innocent men and women who, like me, claim to know God.