Survival of the fittest. In some sense, it is not completely wrong. It does not mean that one person is biologically superior to the average person. Nor does it mean that one person is biologically weaker than other persons. No—it has nothing to do with Social Darwinism. If anything, Social Darwinism is a fool’s interpretation of Charles Darwin’s Theory of Evolution. While darker-skinned people have a dark color as a trait, lighter-skinned also have a skin color as a trait. One is an adaptation for an environment with high UV radiation (from the sun) while the other is for living in low UV radiation. It has nothing to do with superiority among a species. It is similar to people who live in the mountains and people who live at sea level. Mountain dwellers have acclimated their bodies so that they can withstand the cold whereas ordinary folks would be accustomed to the warmth of the cities.
Darwin’s theory has nothing to do with an absolute superior species or race. It is simply the idea that living beings that are better at adapting to their environment would have a higher chance of surviving and reproducing.
Russians for having lived in the northern hemisphere for so long have gotten used to their weather. It is quite obvious that they have adapted to living in such a crude environment. And yet, dumbasses like Napoleon still invade Russia during the winter of all seasons.
Those would be examples of the difference between people who live in different environments. But what happens if one is not able to adapt to the harsh environment?
The answer is simple.
I’m fucked.
The path was widening ever so slightly. Dirt—a dirt path. It was brown and all that; with dust kicking up on every step. At my current pace, it doesn’t take a moron to figure out that I was nearing my limits. Whether or not running on a dirt path was better than a concrete paved path was debatable—what difference can I feel when my feet were all numb?
At first, running downhill was easy. I only had to watch out for random sticks and stones in my path. But of course, an uphill battle would always ensue. I was lucky that the villa wasn’t at the summit of the mountain but somewhere around the middle area. I couldn’t even complain. Had I been forced to run through the mountains, I’d probably have fallen dozens of times or I would sprain my ankle in trying to jump over rocks and shit. I’m quite glad that there is a dirt trail to run on… Fuck.
As the path widened, I knew I was getting closer to the villa. Running uphill was a completely different story compared to downhill. Gravity was working against me like the motherfucker it was. It’s good that the path wasn’t steep or else I’d have long dropped dead.
All the pressure from dropping my feet down was being absorbed by the frontal part of my feet instead of my heels. Was I supposed to hit the ground with my heels? Since I’ve always landed around the middle area next to the balls of my feet, how would landing on the heels compare?
I’ll have to look into it later but—I can’t just change footwork when I’m running. If I break the steady pace I’m going at, I’m also going to break my breathing rhythm which will eventually come back to fuck me in the ass.
Normally, I’d probably try to bounce with my legs to make it easier, but I couldn’t really do that when running up a mountain. It burned. My legs were burning. Were my toes bleeding? Gosh, I hope not. But what can I do other than continue onwards? Resting is great and all, but I should rest only once I’ve finished. While I could slack easily with no one watching over me, it would do me no good. Self-discipline—without it, I’m nothing.
While jumping rope was an aerobic and cardiovascular exercise that also happened to work out my feet—jumping rope and running a fucking marathon in the morning was not the same thing.
I couldn’t really tell before, but I sure as hell could feel it now. The breathlessness in my lungs. The dry throat. The chilling sensation running through my spine.
So this is what they call high-altitude training… Interesting.
It wasn’t the fact that there was less oxygen to breathe which made it harder. But rather, no matter how much I breathed in, it never seemed to be enough. I was definitely inhaling oxygen. But the oxygen wasn’t being absorbed and transported through my body as efficiently.
Every step propelled me closer to the finish line. Every step entertained me with the sensation of soaring through the air. And every step crushed me into the ground. I was an airplane that kept flying up and crashing back down. My body was light when I was in the air. And it became ten times as heavy when on the ground.
A baby bird that tries to fly, but ends up falling out of the nest, will keep trying to fly. For if it doesn’t, it will be eaten.
While I wasn’t being chased by a bear, my body was in a fight-or-flight state. A condition I was well aware of. It was, after all, the same feeling. The same one as that time I was ‘kidnapped.’
Heightened perception. A dulled sense of pain. The fire coursing through my veins. It was this. This was it. The ‘Battle State.’ At least that’s what it feels like. The senses of a wild cat. A lion preparing to jump on a deer. That’s how I would address it.
It wasn’t anything new. It was on and off—triggered randomly and usually for a good reason. Perhaps it is the instinct of the wild animal within me. Maybe my previous life was a lion. After all, I was familiar enough with this sensation that I knew how to utilize it; albeit, not to its full power. The extent of how hypersensitive I could become was unknown, and I couldn’t manually achieve this state either. A mystery it was.
It was not the same as emotional strength or hysterical strength. It’s like that trending video where a father lifted up a car to save his child—Its nature was much different. While superpowers were now known to be a thing, I knew this was no superpower either. How do I know? Because it feels natural. It is something I always had.
Also, the name, ‘Battle State’ has nothing to do with me watching too much Dragon Ball. It didn’t make sense to call it ‘Super Saiyan’ since I wasn’t an alien nor did my hair float and turn yellow. If it was more about technicality, I’d name it the ‘Sherlock Holmes State’ since I could feel everything as if I were an outsider looking into the box. Perhaps ‘God State’ would sound better. ‘Omniscient State?’ They all sound too childish. Maybe I shouldn’t call it a name at all…
Either I call it ‘Battle State’ or I admit it is some sort of psychosis and I am mentally disabled. Honestly, ‘Battle State’ doesn’t sound as corny as all the other names. It’s probably because I just came up with a name to call it after fighting the blond dude. I’m sure I can think of a better name in the future… Now that I think of it, I’ve never committed myself to naming things or to names in general.
After a certain point, a name just becomes a label with no meaning.
Therefore, by proof of existential crisis, my faulty logic dictates that names have no meaning, thus ‘Battle State’ is horrible—I can’t even call it a name, can I? Calling it ‘Battle State’ is the same as naming a cat, ‘Cat,’ and a dog, ‘Cheeseburger.’ A cat is obviously a cat. And who in their right minds would name someone after their favorite food? If you name your pet dog, ‘Cheeseburger,’ you may as well address me as, ‘Chicken Breast.’ It’s not my fault that I like chicken breasts… Wait, what the fuck. ‘Chicken Breast’ sounds much better than ‘Coeus.’ I guess the thought had never occurred to me, but ‘Coeus’ is such a garbage name. How did I just realize this now? Not even I can pronounce ‘Coeus’ correctly!
‘Hey Coeus, did you finish your essay?’
Yeah, the name doesn’t roll off the tongue well.
‘Hey Chicken Breast, did you eat my cat?’
mUcH bEtTeR…
I question how my mind hasn’t collapsed in on itself with how much I think about stupid topics. And I call myself an intelligent person. What a stupid idiot I must be.
It’s crazy how stupid I am—how stupidly smart I am. As they say, genius knows no bounds.
I may actually consider renaming myself for absolutely no reason other than watching people say my name. If my name was ‘Dick’ or… No, ‘Dick’ is a commoner’s name. It won’t work. Maybe… ‘Shaft.’ Yeah, ‘Shaft’ isn’t a bad name. I just need a good last name and—AHA!
‘SHAFT’
‘MANROD!’
"…"
Surely it isn’t a false advertisement? I don’t think I have ever measured my size before...
Anyway—THE TREE! I see the red tree!
Who would’ve thought the time spent running would go by so fast.
Ah, and here comes the soreness… Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuucck.
—I may actually be a masochist if I can endure this level of torture every day. I can’t see myself running a full marathon every morning, but who knows. Maybe I will be the first person to successfully invade Russia and not die… I’m glad the mountains weren’t as cold as I thought. Then again, it's not like I’m at the summit or anywhere near the icecap if there is one.
As my feet started succumbing to their maker, I gave a good slap on both calves to fire the motors back up. I can’t have them busting out on me when I’m this close to the finish line.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Ruuuuuuuuunnnnnnn!!!
***
I’m retarded…
I’m so stupid…
Why am I doing this to myself…
Suffering surely is eternal…
Sisyphus, teach me your ways…
How the fuck do you roll a boulder up a mountain?
I can’t even walk without breaking a sweat.
Greek mythology is riddled with so many plot holes…
Maybe gravity in Hell is different from the gravity on Earth? And perhaps there isn’t any gravity in heaven which is why the ‘angels’ fly. I don’t believe for a moment that humans can have wings as white as a polished toilet. Why is white associated with pure? Nothing can be pure if there is no comparison to the impure. And nothing can be called suffering if there isn’t an idea of what non-suffering is…
FUCK YOU!
‘One more, one more, one more, Fuck off my case please!!!’ I don’t see your built ass running a marathon in the morning! So what if you are the embodiment of Arnold Schwarzenneger! What kind of hypocrite tells people to run a couple marathons while sun-tanning on a hammock?—then again, it’s exactly because Trevor is strong as hell that I’m listening to his commands. I’m such a pussy—wait no.
It’s a tactical retreat. Yes—a tactical retreat. Once I get as big as Trevor… Oh… Now that I think about it, even if I got as strong as him, it’s not like I’m going to murder anyone that isn’t an enemy.
But seriously, cardio and weight lifting are two fucking separate things. Does he not know what ‘rest’ means? I just finished running down the mountain and back up and you tell me that I need to do it two more times?!? THIS IS INHUMANE. I’m not even an athlete and yet, I—I should probably stop whining…
That’s right. Albert Camus¹, I’d kill you if you hadn’t already been dead for over a century.
‘One must imagine Sisyphus happy.’ I can already hear him rolling around in his grave as he continues to echo those words.
In Sisyphus’ case, he was sentenced to pushing a boulder up an unending mountain. Every time he failed, he would tumble back down and have to start again. Such is the price of escaping death twice.
So then, one must ask the question. If he’s going to be punished by having to roll a boulder up a mountain for all eternity, ‘can he just not do it?’ Had I been Sisyphus, would I do the same?
While I’d definitely be ripped, my muscles would also be eternally sore. What is it that prevents Sisyphus from simply dropping the boulder and sleep for eternity? It’s easy to give up. Especially when faced with an insurmountable task—rather an unending task—the average fool would simply give up. Besides, Sisyphus is only a dead person in the form of a soul. And yet, knowing that his life is over, he continues to fulfill his punishment in the underworld. Why?
I wonder.
In a way, this is quite similar. Why am I running up and down a mountain? Exercise? Is that really it? At least I figured out a way to numb the pain by keeping myself in the mind. That way, as long as my head is busy with thinking that I am thinking instead of running; I can at least repress the feeling of wanting to give up. I wonder if Sisyphus thinks? Maybe that’s the secret to how he does it. Of course, it’s stupid to compare a funny little story tale to what I’m doing. Sisyphus has been dead for eons whereas this big boy here is still only sixteen years of age.
Speaking of the Greeks, I feel like my name was similar to some god in Greek mythology… Or so I think. Can’t really remember but it doesn’t mean much since like fairy tales, Greek mythology is only a tall tale. Similar to religions like Christianity, Buddhism, or Hinduism, they can’t be proven, yet it also can’t be denied the possibility. Religions and such social constructs are all possible. While there’s no evidence to prove any of them, there also exists no evidence to disprove any of them.
This distinction between religions is interesting. But the suffering that ties them together is the same. It is all still human suffering. In Christianity, they simply say that God is all-knowing so whatever happens, goes according to God’s will. It is also because God is of a higher existence that humans cannot fathom his intentions, therefore evil and human suffering exist for a purpose that only God knows—thus, Christianity abandons the notion of suffering. In Buddhism, there are the four noble truths: the noble truths of suffering, the truth that is the cause of suffering, the true cessation of suffering, and the true path to the cessation of suffering. In a nutshell, it means that suffering is a characteristic of existence. One cannot exist if one does not suffer. They accept the fact that it is normal to suffer. Hinduism on the other hand is on the concept of karma. Really, I think it is a stupid concept. Everything is a cause-and-effect chain and the likes of suffering are a result of thyself—if not thyself, then thyself in thy previous life. It just means that suffering is caused by human activity; therefore suffering is a natural phenomenon that one must take action to learn from. Suffering. I wonder if I have ever experienced true suffering. But with suffering, comes growth. And growth is power.
It’s surprising how much the human body is capable of. Its growth potential is amazing. While compared to other wild animals, humans are garbage in terms of physical prowess, the mind is capable of learning as is the body. It’s like a game.
A garbage game.
The game of life.
I’d be surprised if I don’t wake up tomorrow with broken legs.
“...”
Woah!—it’s a deer.
Look at that fucker run. Maybe if I had hooves like a deer, running would be so much easier… Did I really run out of things to think about? How long has it been? Goddamnit, running wastes so much time…
I might as well prove the Riemann hypothesis while I’m at it...
Mathematics is so confusing sometimes. Where does one even start when writing such proofs? I suppose observing is the first part. And the second would be heavily reliant on intuition. While logic is applied, it is for the most part, a fact-checker—a tool so to speak. The thing known as logic as it would appear to the fool is intimidating. Thus sprouts the general consensus that maths is for intellectuals who are extremely logical. This thought is wrong though, at least in a broad sense. Logicians and Mathematicians are two separate entities.
While I’m at it, why don’t I just break down every school subject in a nutshell? What a good use of my time!
High school English is just modern people attempting to understand a mad-lad known as Shakespeare. It’s funny to think of it like this: had Shakespeare been a student in this era, he’d have a big fat F on his report card for not knowing English. And he’d probably be charged multiple crimes of plagiarizing Shakespeare. English is a language. And yet, teachers preach their beloved literature as if it were the holy gospel without having a resolute grasp on said literature. They in fact, barely teach any actual English about sentence structure or grammar! It doesn’t take a moron to know that you can easily pass the class by tooting the teacher’s horns and agreeing with every word spoken.
The sciences are just plain common sense. Once you’ve memorized the material, there’s nothing else to know. It’s simply a dip in the ocean. There’s no need to crystalize the knowledge nor is there any need to try—once you’ve graduated, no one cares. High school science teaches only the basic fundamental things. It doesn’t go in-depth which is what makes it impractical. Such is not the teacher’s blame, as it is much an issue with the education system that requires mandatory education and a shitty curriculum. I seriously don’t see how knowing that ‘the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell’ is going to help me out anytime soon.
History classes suffer similarly to the sciences. It speaks of history, but it never goes too in-depth. One cannot understand how large a pool is if they only swim in the children’s section. Again, it is a fault in the education system. For all I know, America has been a joke ever since 1776². And here we are, only learning about the ‘good’ brought about by independence. I seriously don’t get all the hype around immigrating to America. Has anyone ever seen how Americans treat immigrants? And yet, you bunch of masochists still come. For a premier power, America is riddled with idiots—much more so compared to other nations… After all, ‘no one wants to be an American idiot,’ says the idiot.
Idiots come in many shapes and sizes. One thing in common is that they are close-minded and disagreeable people. Such can be recognized if you simply ask everyone you talk to. A majority of them will say that they are slightly smarter than average. But that’s just not how it works. If everyone says they are smarter than average; then what the fuck is the average if not dictated by the majority of answers? You can’t be better than everyone else if everyone else says they are better than you. Who should be believed? I mean, the solution is simple. The people who argue about intellects are all idiots. There’s a stark contrast between being pretentious, and knowing for a fact that you are better. It isn’t narcissism; it is self-actualization. Who cares if you’re a genius if you constantly live with the fear that you are only an average person. One who doesn’t know themself can’t hope to do much.
The humanities and art—oh, I’m back already? Time sure flies…
I wonder what time it is.
Heading into the villa, I could hear loud music coming from the basement.
I already finished running down the mountain and back up three times. Now that my legs were standing still, I could feel the tingle deep in my bones telling me to move. My body literally could not standstill. They were sore, but the light feeling wouldn’t go away. Strange. Shouldn’t my body be heavier instead of lighter? I just ran a whole marathon and yet, instead of my feet collapsing, it is as if I weighed 50 pounds³ lighter. It was easier to move around, a strange feeling. I could hear the loud bass beating in my eardrums. Eye Of The Tiger. It isn’t a bad song. A pretty good one in fact. But what speaker can play audio this loud? I usually wasn’t one to complain when I heard a good song, but for some odd reason, the beating of the bass and drums were particularly louder compared to the lyrics… Trevor must be lifting some serious weights if the music is this loud. The basement door was also closed which affirmed the fact that I wasn’t hearing wrong. The music was indeed loud, a stark contrast to the silent nature of the wilderness. Perhaps it is because I have been running for so long in silence that the beating music appears louder than normal. The hour hand of the grandfather was in between 12 and 1 while the minute hand was around 35.
12:35
We had lunch at 1:30 yesterday so it was probably the same time today as well.
I should get washed.
Every step I took up the stairs made a distinct creaking sound masked by the loud music. Had the music been turned off, I wonder how loud my walking would be. While my body felt light, I could tell the same wasn’t true for the staircase.
Taking my clothes off, it was only then that I realized I had yet to take off my shoes… I came into the house with my shoes on… ‘Forgive me father, for I have sinned.’ I immediately ran back down the stairs and straight to the shoe rack. Taking off the shoes, I saw the redness on the sock. Surely it wasn’t bleeding, right? Taking my socks off, I was relieved that the pair of socks was the only red there was… Why am I wearing red socks?
It’s good that I didn’t dirty anything with my blood since the shoes and socks weren’t technically mine since the old man sent everything. But for why he sent five boxes of running shoes, I had no clue. It wasn’t like I was going to wreck a pair every day.
Reaching to pull my shirt overhead, I noticed how it was a bit moist. I slowly walked up the stairs once more and entered the bathroom. Taking off my pants and—wait, why wasn’t I wearing underwear? Oh yeah, the old bastard sent me thongs instead of boxers. There ain’t no fucking way I’m wearing those. While I’ve heard that some men wear them, there’s no way I’m sacrificing my dignity like that.
Tossing them into the laundry basket, I got in the shower and cranked the handle upwards for a nice warm shower. Ahhh, that’s the feeling.
Compared to other showers, this luxurious one was instantaneous. Normally, you’d have to wait a couple seconds for the water to warm up, but the temperature adjustment for this was instant. It completely skipped the cold phase so that it would never feel like I was taking a shower in a public swimming pool. As I breathed in the warm steam in the air, my mind stayed in a daze… My eyes were soothed by the warmth. Who knew a nice hot shower could feel this good? Cold showers were good too bu—
*Boom