"Harder!" The growl of a shadowed figure echoed through the halls, aiming at what seemed to be a young kid, barely above thirteen. The eyes of the boy's eyes were as a drum-like rhythm sounded through the hollow floors of a gym.
"The fuck are you doing Idris, are you listening! Do you want this, or is it some job!"The voice yelled again, the ferocity of each instruction increasing exponentially. And the boy, his eyes just tearing holes into the punching bag, having predator-like focus. The weight of the punching bag seemingly undisturbed his stone-like stance. Each blow became stronger than the last until it sounded like grown men swinging sledge hammers into a concrete beam.
"Change combo 1,1,3!!"
Just like the soldier he was fordged to be, the sledge hammers that were just beating on the bag changed. His right hand was a revolver wielded by a speed shooter, the left an axe chopping down a redwood that stood for millennia.
"The work you're putting in right now is just the stepping stone Idris, what's the gym to you, huh?" A somewhat out-of-place question was thrown to Idris, undisturbed though two more gunshots were heard through the gym.
"MY CHURCH!" His answer was almost cult-like, in how he screamed it at the top of his lungs.
"And boxing?"
"MY RELIGION!!" The fervor in the boy's voice silenced the coach.
BANG BANG
Two more gunshots were heard as the boy continued, his lower half just starting to move in sync. The bag swung back and without a second to spare he moved out of the way with practiced ease.
BANG BANG BOOM
The shots rung out loud as the axe like hook was thrown changing the bag's direction.
"TOO SLOW, IDRIS, ARE YOU TRAINING OR PLAYING? HIT THE FUCKING BAG!"
With pinpoint accuracy, a straight was thrown stopping the bag dead. His steel gray eyes unmoving still locked onto the bag as the alarm rung. His morning training was done and his first day of school just beginning.
*BEEEP*
"Father I'm heading up to the monastery kitchen for some water before school, and remember it's the first day of conditioning. I'll be coming home late."
As Idris stepped away from his bag, the old priest stared at him with unwavering pride. The boy's oak skin was still dripping, his curled Afro hanging, bogged down from the sweat that had seeped into his scalp.
"Lord thank you for placing this boy into the gym and allowing me to save him from himself." The whisper-like words escaped from his lips with warmth as he thought back to their first meeting four years ago.
A moonless night left the streets of New Orleans barren. Sirens sounded as they painted the streets in the red and blue afterglow. A younger Idris sprinted down the streets with ragged abandon. It had been two days since he broke into his stepfather's safe, and he was still on the run. The man's devilish glare scarred him, making him run faster and lasting longer.
Sitting between two dumpster, footsteps echoed down the alleyway of the corridor. Bringing his heavy breath to silence. Holding.
"What're you doing!"
"Shit!"
Sprinting down the long hall, he dove under a broken gate. As the exposed metal end tore into his skin he pulled himself free from the gates of hell. Taking a quick right into an alleyway and hoping for a fence, the boy found himself in the garden of an old church. Each step carried his hope that he could find salvation here rather than out on the streets.