Some advice on reading this post: Read, until you get to the link. When you get to the link (which is a youtube song), open it in a seperate window (by holding Ctrl and then clicking on the link) and then leave the song playing in the background whilst you immediately return to the story and read the rest of it!
and hopefully the song syncs up slightly with the story =D
how frustratingly complex =D
and hopefully the song syncs up slightly with the story =D
how frustratingly complex =D
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The Gym was packed on a Saturday night, mostly with young men and women, getting into shape so that, had they gone out that Saturday night, they would have attracted more attention on the dance-floor or wherever. The Gym never changed its CD’s, so all the regulars knew the songs off by heart. This one came on.
David, who was at the punching bag, knew these first few chords. He widened his stance and puffed at the floor, leaning against the bag, gritting his teeth. He began to act as though he was on a stage, and the whole world was watching. David, rocking back and forth, clicked when he heard these first few words...
He gave the punching bag two quick swings then leant his head against it, squeezing it harder and harder. . Most people in that room setup a “dart-board” version of someone in their minds. David had a person on his mind- on the very front of his mind. David shoved the punching bag forwards, raised his fist and charged on his back-foot. Everyone grabbed a weight, or dropped onto their hands. The chorus came:
David fired on the bag, on the person on his mind, everything she ever said. His mind told his body to do everything it could, and his fists flew. Each punch was for the lies, THUMP, for haunting him ,THUMP THUMP, for not caring, THUMP, for being so damn unfair, for wasting his time. And each punch said that she wont waste any more of his time, that HE DIDNT CARE!.
The chorus ended... and David fell back onto a bench, like a desperate version of “The Thinker”.
He looked up to the mirror from his bent-over pose. He was tired, baring his teeth, bobbing with his breathes. But the song didn’t let up, and it began again to stir that recklessness in him. He watched his own eyes, got lost in them. He pulled himself up in denial of his exhaustion, in denial of gravity, in purposeful ignorance of anything that resisted his will. He walked back to the bag, to her just in time. He waited, his silence lying about his intentions. And his vision lost focus as the chorus came, and he let go for the last time. Every muscle in his body screamed with the lyrics:
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