The Nothing That Comes

Battered and bruised, the fighter stood, his hands tightly clenched as his legs burned with the fire of exhaustion, of long and arduous labor, of meeting their breaking point and pushing past. Something like a laugh came from the old shadow, impossible waves of silence deafening the world. The dreadful absence drew nearer, assured of its victory.

“Come on then,” groaned the youth, holding his weary fists up to the demon. With every punch, every single time he even touched the monster, a coldness harsher than winter filled his veins, leaving his nerves stunned and senseless. He gritted his teeth and tried to stay light on his feet.

Breathe, he reminded himself.

Once more, the shadow approached. Once more, he jabbed at the featureless area where a nose should be. He screamed, but still, he threw his right right after, aiming low into the guts, into the soft places below the ribs—if this thing had ribs.

The force of his desperate strikes pushed the creature back a step, and the young fighter swung his hips and sent his shin flying at breakneck speeds into the nothingness of the invader just about where a knee should be. He had, in the past, mangled a bar of iron in just such a way to the cheers of his family. Limped for days afterwards. Again, as he had only ever done once before, he put all of himself behind the blow.

The absence of a leg did not buckle, but neither did it resist. His kick went through the darkness as if it wasn’t there—no, he could feel it, feel that cold insensibility once again. He felt the nothingness: no foot, no calf, his own knee a tingling numbness.

The shadow dissipated again, broken once more by the assault.

The warrior fell, caried away by his own momentum and useless appendages. Lying in the dirt, he panted.

UP! he commanded himself. His arms wouldn’t move, and only one leg, for now, had any life in it. He waited for himself to return, the few seconds stretching out like hours to his panicked mind. Breathe, he reminded himself. Slowly, the cold numbness gave way to hot pain. Slowly, he crawled back onto his knees. Up.

Leaning on one leg, he gradually stood, his arms still dangling at his sides. The fingers twitched as life returned, and he gazed into the haunted night, waiting.

Then, what the young man had forgotten, had ceased to hope for anymore in this troubled night; light blazed low in the East. The sun rose, and the nightmare did not return.

The warrior fell, assured his temple was safe, and rested in the coming light of dawn.