Sunday, 7 May 2017

Those Who Dream Of Demons - 04

I release the bar above my head and land on the floor, rolling my shoulders I take a deep breath and contemplate my next exercise. I glance around the gym and see around twenty other people, the majority male while physiotherapists flitter between each patient. It’s encouraged for other patients to interact with each other during their exercises, as it gives them motivation, encouragement, safety if the weights fall on you and keep some people coming back to the gym to complete their rehabilitation.

But I’m by myself, my own fault of course. I threw a ten-kilogram weight at someone when they grew frustrated at me for generally being slow when they ask me questions, they were patient at first but eventually, I was just in the way.

Now it’s eight months later from the time I woke up, I spent two months in a medically induced coma so a total of ten months since my injuries. Although I’ve mostly healed, my body has grown weaker from not training during those two months sleeping and even more so from at least four months taking it easy. I shake my head to try and rid myself of these thoughts, it’s Thursday so today is shoulders and back.‘Rowing.’ I think to myself and making the changes to the adjustable tower, I take a sip of water. Like a machine I work until my limbs are sore and ache, I seem to have a hard time gaining muscle and it requires me to constantly push myself harder every time.

Quickly finishing every exercise I have left I take a shower here and leave, I hate the atmosphere of that place and the people, especially the people. Pitching up their voices when they talk to each other feigning interest, the eyes as you’re evaluated like a piece of meat in front of the physiotherapists. Or is it the fact that I’ve acknowledged and conform to it just to make everything easier on myself, to get this over quickly and not raise a fuss.

I take a deep breath in and exhale it slowly, I push these thoughts out my mind and just focus on observing the street. Playing the game of ‘Who might you be?’ and trudging along to the market. I take the list out of my pocket and begin buying all the ingredients required for tonight's dinner. I stop by a game store and contemplate buying a game for my younger brother who's fifteen. I spend a few minutes looking at the advertisements, there seemed to be a new game coming out, it has a really flashy intro for the developer and title but then the music goes quiet.

I watch two hands covered in thick white gloves move around as though he’s in water, the character slowly climbs its way up a ladder and peeking over the edge is an azure sun. Blinded by the light the scene changes to a speeder ship mid-race, crowds of people are there cheering on their favourite pilot, the camera goes under a speeder and the scene changes again. Now they’re racing around asteroid belt shooting in a death race. In the explosion of one crashing into the belt the camera rapidly zooms out from a mech firing its cannon, it isn’t a standard bipedal with two arms mech. It looks like an AA gun with four legs and it’s dishing out the hurt to a platoon of infantry space troopers. Then an explosion rising up in the background blew everything away leaving the name of the game again.