Volume Six

I want to hear that voice again. I want it, I want it, I want it. So I decided to give this training all I could give to become the strongest version of myself. To even have the chance to here my father's voice of approval, it's going to be a tough climb to achieve that task. I know that I can achieve it though, I'm a buster it's in my blood. Sure I may have not got blessed with quick reflex's, or heavy hands or speed. I'm willing to sacrifice everything to achieve the impossible. He will take pride in his offspring, I will make him notice me.he will no longer see his son as a failure. I will not become a failure, I'm tired of being s failure. So I reduced the amount of sleep I would get by two hours. My father quickly noticed that I would be punching the sand earlier than usual. My training would usually start at six in the morning, know I would chose what time I wanted to start. The amount of food I was eating wasn't enough for me anymore I wanted more to support my process. One day after an very intense training, my father came into the room. I guess to see what type of progression I've made cause of my mood switch. I just ignored my father's questioning. Before he left I tossed him the bucket which my food was always placed inside."give me more!". His hands palmed the bucket. The bucket could be used as a water bowl for some type of animals, if I was to guess my Father weight and height. Let's see. I'm five foot. I still can't place my hands on his shoulders yet, weight well that's unknown. All of his fights that I've watched of him. He purposely taped over his weighing in. Maybe he is embarrassed about his weight, I couldn't understand the reasoning for this. I know that he made a heavy weight seem like a featherweight when he judo slammed him. After that slammed they had stopped the fight cause some of his ribs were poking through his skin. That was the least brutal fight I've seen of him, my father's skills are on another level. He probably doesn't regret retiring from the sport. When he retired nobody could defeat him, so there was no reason for him to continue his reign. He made about three fighters commit suicide after there match together. He handed me the papers, reading the headlines of the people who had tragically taken their life. " Son. I've never meant for them to do that I just wanted to show them that I was better than them. I guess that is just too much, I do feel bad about the aftermath of my first five matches. Those four people were legends in their martial arts. They have studied their art for years of their life, then all of sudden their studying didn't pay off. Of course anyone would be devastated at that point. That's why you never seen the post interview. It's not meant for children the look in the eyes of the men that I've defeated earlier in my career. It was looking inside the eyes of a dead man. It didn't scar me it just meant that for know on I would have to give my opponents the first round so they would have hope. That's why most of the he fighters have me respect throughout my career, some seen it as a sign of disrespect. I didn't want them to see as that. So of course the fans of the fighters association would be fueled by hatred. Soon after those fights I would get several death threats coming my way, I retired not only cause. You were on the way. I retired cause I didn't want them to know your name, or even existed. It was for both you and me. A father's job is to protect you, I guess so far I've been doing a pretty good job. Or not I haven't been involved in your life enough. Right now I'm only going to say this once to you. I'm sorry!". He left me after that quote from him. After that the bucket would be filled with rice, broccoli, potatoes, carrots. With the bucket was a five gallon bottle of water next to it. Why is my father caring so much about me?!, I would rather have him pay me no attention than give me it. The month after eh interaction with my Father. His voice echoed through the house, his tone was different this time. " Why are you here?!". That was a quote that I've never heard him say before, who is my father talking too?. Maybe it's an old friend from his fighting days. No that can't be he has never told me about hin having friends, so who is this mysterious person in his home?!. That was on my mind all day, the next day it was never brought up to me. I started to notice that the rice no longer hurt me when I started punching it. " Why don't you hurt any more?!, why?!.". Out of frustration I punched the hard concrete wall that had drawings all over them. I started drawing around the age of four, my drawings were about me and my family. Back when it was three. As the years past it went from three people to just one. I feel as if the sand was part of my family, it was there more than anyone else was. I poured all the sand on the floor. Seeing how it severed me no purpose for my hands any longer, just when it started to make me feel powerful. I kneeled over the sand trying to figure out what else to do with it. The sand began to hurt me knees, an idea the sand still had purpose. For know on the sand will be used as conditioning for my knees!.