Trebor Williams sighed as he looked down in resignation at the scale in front of him. 66.6kg. 1kg heavier than last week. The shiny +1 elevated diamond data point on the LED display was an ugly reminder of his lack of willpower. All it took was a sprain to the back of the calf from a football match a week prior and a week of restless nights caring for his sickly son Samson to spiral into stress eating. Like a vulture, he spent the night raiding through kitchen cupboards, drawers and rustling through box after box for hidden bouts of instant gratification. He began by feasting on delicious sugary treats. But as they quickly disappeared he had resorted to raiding cereals. He coated them in whatever sweet nectar he could find for his next fix. He knew he didn’t feel any lasting satisfaction but the ritual always seemed to placate his immediate worries and help him ignore his mounting responsibilities that were gradually forming into a sinister chimaera not out of place in a Lovecraftian horror. The Irish liquors the night before were an especially moreish poisoned chalice. The divine, creamy concoction smoothly slid down his gullet like a hot knife through butter.
As Trebor pinched the bridge of his nose and cast an exasperated glance towards the heavens as he reminisced how many times he has looped back to the same set of murky crossroads. It must’ve been dozens or even hundreds of times. He couldn’t remember the precise number. However, he felt the familiar sensation of bloated leeches slowly sucking away his soul. An overly familiar decision awaited him. Does he submerge further into the darkness of self pity or does he rip off the parasites and charge towards a new future? There were times when he would wallow in depression for a few more weeks. But eventually, he would always find some kind of spark to reinvigorate himself to try again. Every time he would think that this time would be different and that this time he would reach a new plane of existence. He would share his overflowing optimism with his wife Jane. She would nod along with her gentle smile. But if one looked closely, you would see the twinkling mirth in her eyes. She knew what would happen next.
In a hypothetical case in court, the prosecution would easily be able to make a compelling case that Trebor had read an unhealthy amount of web fiction novels with iskai’d MCs. These leading characters ranged from the ordinary to the extraordinary. Some even had inner demons that he could emphasise with. But after a single or multiple story arcs these protagonists would slay these phantoms and montage their way to become an overpowered cultivator. Even when they hit a few bumps in the road they would somehow develop and maintain some unshakable drive that propelled them to new heights. Furthermore, once in a blue moon, Trebor would be gripped by tales of heroes with struggles that felt so vivid he could almost feel their rapturous energy propelling him towards his goals. Unfortunately, the euphoria would quickly dissipate leaving Trebor quite frankly mystified. Although he longed to be within their ranks he couldn’t conceptualise how they maintained their iron will in the face of the tentacled monstrosity called life that pulled you apart in all sorts of directions. He wasn’t on some sort of grand quest to save the world. Not yet anyway, he chuckled wryly to himself. No, mostly he just wanted the mental fortitude to let him reach a point where he was comfortable within his own skin. Throughout his life he had maintained this ability to varying degrees. Sometimes days, sometimes a year or more - especially in his younger years. In fact, he even came quite close several times to reaching the physical and spiritual conditioning he desired. But he could conjure up a multitude of excuses to rationalise why he fell off the wagon. Ranging from the trivial: physical injury, children, family issues, or some kind of lifestyle or political crisis. To the more severe: developing health issues that completely derailed his life plans or self-diagnosed addictions. All of them, though, sounded hollow. And that he should somehow be able to rise to the occasion against the odds like the adventurers in all his favourite stories and become a shining beacon to his family and friends. His failure felt like a crushing boulder on his darkest days. And even now, the fear he felt from never moving on with his life threatened to embrace him like an maleficent spider that would keep him suspended and paralysed with indecision for all eternity.
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Trebor shook his head derisively at his self imposed conundrum and cast his mind back to this evening's family movie night. As usual they had watched Frodo’s favourite movie. The sight of his eldest demolishing two large bags of popcorn crisps brought a smile to his face as he remembered the wise words passed down to the koala from his father. “That will do” thought Trebor as he tore the soul thirsty suckers from his arms as he waded towards the shallower waters of the metaphoric shoreline. Who knows, maybe this time it will be different? Maybe this time he would break this never ending cycle.
> “Don't let fear stop you from doing the thing you love”. – Buster Moon.