Fists of Faith

Inside a room inhabited by the dim
light from what was left of a bulb, a man
pumping with determination stood in
the darkness. His body was conditioned
and shirtless. The blood rushed through
his veins like raging waters of the great
oceans. His heart was pumping like the
drums of the African land.
The goal was to fight, to adapt, to overcome.
To defeat the enemy that waited
outside for his presence. The sweat rolled
down his back, glistening from what light
was left. His eyes intensified and were
swallowed by fire.
As he threw a jab into the air, the wind
from his fist cracked the wall in front of
him. A door swung open, welcoming the
sunlight. The man walks out onto the hot
soil, where his foe awaits him. The air
stung as the challenger approached his
foe within his center of energy, a force of
darkness and great pressure.
Their eyes lock and engage in a deep
stare of intimidation. The true test was
about to unfold, to overcome a storm.