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[color=82A989]“AIS!”[/color]

As he struck the wooden training dummy, Adam could feel the sharp, knife-like sensation shooting down his inner forearm. He had learned long ago how to dull pain. Exhale through the mouth, release the feeling into the air to be carried off by the wind and centre yourself on something else, something that could flood your mind and wash away the sensations of agony and discomfort. In this moment, he thought of the wind in his hair as he rode a rail at the park. The sound of Everly bailing off to the side and Monarch cheering her on.

[color=82A989]“AIS!”[/color]

Another strike, a downward pointed elbow. Adam’s mind drifted, unfocused into memory. He could see his opponents face contorted and grimaced as his patella tendon was ripped apart by the attack. It was almost like an out of body experience. Glancing up, he could see his father's steel blue eyes staring gleefully with mania at the carnage that was unfolding. No Mercy. Win at All Cost. Survive. Lessons learned at the Dojo were not lessons learned lightly. The whites of his father's teeth, the joker-like grin, it was encouragement to keep going. Adam repeated the elbow strike over and over. His enemy screamed. He whipped the boy around onto the floor and the ref charged the Omasta boy to the out of bounds section of the mat, separating the lion from his prey.

[color=82A989]“AIS!”[/color]

Adam pressed a thrust kick into the centre of the dummy. Instead of simply seeing wood, the fighter saw his father, flying through the display window of his large trophy collection case. The glass breaking, shattering into a million pieces of stardust around the crumpling body of the senior Omasta, an image Adam kept in his head almost all the time. He ran from the scene, not stopping until he reached the beach, the ocean and a sense of tranquillity.

Pressing his head against the dummy, Adam gripped onto the bars for support to hold himself aloft. The sweat was pouring from his bare chest as he breathed out the pain, ignoring the swelling and bruising of his hands. Yet the lessons still remained, the teachings remained. He closed his green eyes and searched, he dove into the waters of his past to find a memory, to find his centre. As he searched for a face in the crowd, a hand to take his and pull him from the raging waters that swirled like rapids in his heart, he was snatched away by the alarm.

Stepping back and out of his mind palace, Adam breathed out and found himself once again in his basement bedroom, staring at his training dummy and probably late for school. Then he remembered, he had delayed his alarm three times already. He sprinted into the bathroom to grab a quick shower and wash away the blood that had stained in his hands from his early morning workout. After drying himself off, Adam pulled on a [url=https://i.pinimg.com/736x/63/15/c2/6315c283ed16ec5d02f6d067919f6cb6.jpg]pair of tan cargo pants, black converse and a red v-neck tee with a black jacket[/url]. 

He was definitely due a wardrobe overhaul as most of the young martial artists clothes were now too small, evident by his biceps and pecs bulging out of his current attire. It was his own fault, he had been on a bulk up all summer and gained a fair amount of extra muscle mass. Now fully dressed, Adam slung his satchel over one shoulder, his camera over the other and snatched his board from beneath his bed before exiting the house through the back door which sat atop the second set of stairs in his room.

There was no point in saying good morning to his parents. They wouldn’t be there anyway.

With [url=https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=K8-J8V8cwTU&pp=ygUYYmxvb2RzdHJlYW0gc29jY2VyIG1vbW15]bloodstream by Soccer Mommy[/url] playing in his ear, Adam rode his board through the streets of Beverly Hills, soaking in the sunrise and plastic popsicles that many called Beverly Hills Elite. This was a world he was born into but not one in which he ever truly felt that he had belonged. Graduation would creep up fast and as soon as it came around, he was riding his Birdhouse straight out of LA and into the great blue yonder. 

For many, Adam gave off the appearance of a slacker. He barely spoke, was probably high most of the time and was just skating through life on his Shawn Hunter looks. He was ok with them believing that. Nobody needed to know what was going on beneath his bangs or behind his doors. It was his deal, not theirs. He was ever going to cry, woe is me, my life is so hard. That’s not how he was raised. Adam was raised to strike first, strike hard and leave no quarter.

[color=82A989]CLICK
CLICK
CLICK[/color]

Rolling into the parking lot, the number one fighter on the amateur fighting circuit snapped photo after photo of his compatriots; not an unusual sight. Adam loved photography, candids mostly. He would say that he loved to catch the world unawares, in its natural state, as it was intended. His girls in the PLC were up to their usual mischief, so he offered them a thumbs up and a photograph. Hanging out of the window of Mrs Belmonte’s class was a tiny pair of legs in fishnets and big boots; could only be Addie, so of course he took a picture of that.

Adam stopped just short of the stairs and hopped off his board to take a photo of the school itself. A monster of a building, probably started very small before various donations from alumni feeling of desperation forced it to be added to until it became a shell that only Frankenstein's monster could truly love. Having it be struck by a bolt of lightning and burn to ashes to be swept away by the wind was not something, he suspected, most would disagree to. He kicked his board into his spare hand and climb the steps towards hell.

[color=82A989]”One more year.”[/color] Adam thought to himself as he made his way through the halls. Everyone was so busy, everyone was always rushed and running and trying to find something or someone. He was too but he was taking it slow.

One only had to stand still to catch a butterfly.

To find a centre.