Flash Fiction: The Fighting Tides

I think it’s really cool to see people fight. In movies, TV shows, books, comics and the like. All the martial arts and weapons throughout history. All the techniques and skills and backstories and so many different fighting styles. 

Very cool. Very fast. 

I love it.  

Fighting is not as much in real life though, unless it’s funny. Lots of funny stuff on the Internet. Wrestling is alright too. Watching all of the fighting behind the screen makes things feel all awesome and warm on the inside, especially in the brain.

All the adrenaline that keeps me pumped for future battles like homework and chores within the safety of my own home. 

I’ve never had to raise up my fists. I’ve never had to yell or even raise my voice. 

But right now, I don’t know. Something weird is going on out here. 

People are out on the streets, the radio and the news. I see them ever so often. They yell and they fight through fists and insults to get what they want. 

Some of these fighters want what they are due as citizens of this world. Some are not. Some fight without even knowing what they want or what’s in front of them. Few fighting styles are elegant and precise in their delivery and target. Most are just a sprawling mass of fists, yelling and force. 

It feels so uncomfortable, watching them. 

Like standing at the edge of a raging ocean. Unrelentless tides. So close to dragging me out into it. So close to immersing in all that anger, that fighting. 

The waves screaming at me until anger seethes 24/7. 

Deeper and deeper until the pressure crushes me.  

Fight or die. Fight or die. 

So much fighting and so much strife. All too close for comfort. All too much. 

I don’t like being angry. It makes me feel terrible. 

I don’t want to fight if that means I have to fight all the time. 
They fight for their lives. What can I fight for?

I can’t fight like them. 

But still I ask myself the question. Shouldn’t I fight a little bit?

I sat and thought. Struggled and toiled over the right choice to make, the right way to act. 

Ultimately searching for the right way to fight.

The decision I came to created a sort of peace within me. 

My fighting style is speaking, not loudly but kindly. With all the words in my arsenal. 

I speak about myself, for anyone willing to listen. 

Sometimes I can even write! I do it for those willing to read. 

What do I fight for? I fight for myself.

Some understand. Some don’t. Some understand, but really don’t understand. 

When all is said and done, I think I will be the only one who truly can truly know me. 

But that shouldn’t mean my own self is not worth fighting for.

I can fight for myself at the very least.