I once had a vision.
This short story is inspired by the vision of a boy, walking downtown in (probably?) New York-City, somewhere under a bridge towards the sunshine, with his cold breath and thick jacket. He is entering a hall, and starts to whistle.
While he scans the dusty, dirty hall with old rusty machines in it, he proceeds to take off his jacket, and put on his fighting gloves.
Back then, this was a fighting hall. It used to be full of workout equipment and a motivated youth, trying their best to be a great fighter.
The boy is one of them, who survived the grind. Now he has the mindset of a champion.
He punches the punchbag hanging from the contraption in the middle of the hall, just as he is dancing a bit around it.
Then he walks off, continues to stretch and warm up.
„What is that noise here?!“, an old voice suddenly shouts through the entire hall.
This voice used to be the master of the motivated youth. But he didn’t teach them boxing or muay thai or anything like that, no, he even refused to teach such violent techniques!
He was focused on more efficient, yes, even possibly deadlier fighting styles, indeed comparable to karate and taekwondo, but not officially taught or even shown in common media.
It is a traditional fighting style, with an even more traditional philosophy:
„We only do the best we can do to win!“
„Isn’t that what you told us to do, old man?“ the boy shouts back sarcastically.
No response.
The boy didn’t even see him, or even heard any more signs of presence of the master.
Just his breathing. Which seemed to come from all angles.
„Work makes happy!“, the boy thinks.
Then he punches the bag of sand again, but this time, it is deadlier than before.
He convinced the master!
For now, the boy learns to fight this ancient style of fighting, only with the wise words of his master in his ear.
But he’ll never know, that his master was already dead at that point. He died by one of his students, who taught himself this technique of fighting.
And this student, was the boy himself.
Something like that. Or it was another student, and now the boy wants to revenge his master and therefore uses the voice of his master and his patterns of speaking and teaching, that the boy actually „teaches himself“ with the help of his imagination this traditional fighting style.
I hope you liked what you were thinking while you were reading ^^
With that, I wish you a wonderful day, stay curious, and…
Thank you for reading!
Mexistencey 
Interesting Philo.
My old man used to say, „don’t listen to your detractors as they will pull you down. Don’t listen to your supporters as they will make you complacent. Just go and do it.“
The kid in your article sounds like he discovered that as his old master provided him the opportunity to decide.
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Magnificent quote. If I’d ever pull up a wall full of quotes, I’d pin it there. Those who raised you were wise, indeed.
Yes, the boy gains some more chances to decide. The more a person can decide, the more power is manifested in this individual, which makes an individual what it is, and what power makes power. And it all boils down to execution.
The more you work, the more you have the rights ( which were never outspoken by the universe, but they do apply) to decide some things.
This is also an outspoken rule, as it seems.
Philo. Greetings,
Ventusator
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