Grind Epilogue

After our massive "interruption" last night, we managed to cut our training very short, arriving at the Burrow with just enough time to form a little backstory. Although it wasn't exactly hard between Ricochet's prior attitude and my overall role as the "quiet kid," it wasn't exactly hard. So with the wounds of my labor still very much fresh, the only thing I could do was do what I've always had: be alone with my thoughts.

Except instead of my former stale synapses amid silence, my mind instead raced with now plausible possibilities. So with literally nothing else to do in my crater, I stubbornly kept up with my progress and continued my "experiment." Then, through closed eyes, I quieted my racing thoughts, instead focusing on the feeling of that night in crisp detail.

The way the cold air sharpened the oncoming danger all the more, the way my body rushed with the concussive energy held inside, the way that same energy seemed to work for me instead of the other course around. Like flexing an old muscle, the feeling soon came back to me, as the energy started to rise for once at my command. But I couldn't hold onto the charge at all.

Because ironically, in my recollection of my own experience, I remembered Ricochet's involvement as well. And if my theory of what happened with him was correct. Then I had no choice but to share my information with the man who had given me so much. So instead of our usual training, I convinced Richcochet to take a break from our parkour practice and rather "talk" in his room. However, that was, of course, slow going.

"So what exactly are you trying to show me?" he said confusingly.

I weaved a blindingly fast amount of hand signs with almost childlike excitement. However, that quickly failed before I could even get in the middle.

"Woah, Woah, Woah, slow down a little. I'm not exactly adept at your language like Gum and Fury are. So simple it down a little."

I opted for a more "direct" approach by changing up tactics. So in a prepared fashion, I grabbed my notebook and a pen, writing down furiously on a notepad. Once the fifteenth paragraph got made, I handed him the precious notepad. Following his eye movements, though, I quickly realized that he wasn't even 20 percent through before handing it back to me and saying.

"Simpler. Like goldfish simple."

Realizing who I was conversing with, I decided to go with "just" simple—instead showing off a diagram with several steps added in. Once I got done, I handed in the notebook and pointed to each step.

First up was a small diagram of a simple stick figure nicknamed Ricochet standing on the ground near a wall. The figure remained relatively unaware until a big black arrow representing kinetic energy passed through the drawing. It then gets thrown into the wall. Upon hitting the wall, the arrow would take a massive curve carrying the individual in the opposite direction until they hit the floor. I marked every step as the first trial. Through it, even Ricochet could understand.

"Okay, so are you saying that's what usually happens?"

I nodded yes insistently then showed what could happen if my theory could be proven correct. On the second trial, the initial arrow passed through the stick figure again. But instead of remaining unalert, the figure assumed a particular stance that focused the arrow to its chest. The exact figure managed to backflip and land his feet directly on the wall using the recoil.

The stick figure then started to bounce from one wall to another until it began to hit the next black arrow with one that was even bigger than it, effectively overpowering it. After that, the last image showed the figure surrounded by black arrows that effectively got redirected to various directions away from the figure. And that moment, everything clicked.

"So you're saying that normally when I get hit, I usually store up the kinetic energy until I hit another object while just flaying about and react predictably. But you're saying that if I work on my position and reflexes, I can swish around the kinetic energy in any way that I want. Allowing me to control my bounces a lot easier. Am I correct?"

With that, I gave an exuberant and enjoyable thumbs up. However, Ricochet once again started to gain a much more serious manner at sight. I saw doubt cloud over his face for the first time in years.

"I don't know man, sounds a little out of my league; I'm not exactly a brainiac like you. And I would hate to mess up like last time," he said with eyes that darted away.

From there, I figured out the uncharacteristic response, realizing that for the first time in a while, Ricochet was taking his current situation. And with that, I engaged in my self-reflection of my current state. I was so focused on the possibility right in front of me that I didn't once consider the others that lay before me.

I was so concerned with escaping my peaceful silence in favor of choice; I didn't consider the gravity and consequences that came with it. After all, I was only scratching the surface of my ability, and given what that first step looked like, it seemed that there would be far more pain in my future no matter what. Once that question came in full force, though, I looked at the examples all around me.

Because in a sense, it seems all of The Cons have that same struggle every day. And while we suffered a crushing defeat after crushing defeat, something has changed in us. For better or worse, I can't say, which is still more than I can say for the world, that I could only see through a screen. So whatever path may lay down for the both of us, it didn't matter.

Since I know, I can forge ahead, at least knowing that it was my hand that guided the wheel. So at that moment, I went through a different type of breakthrough. I was abandoning stale silence in favor of simplifying my following few words for the person representing the very antithesis of peace.

"Don't think. Just do," I struggled to say in a quietly scratchy voice.

At that moment, Ricochet looked towards me in awe, for once speechless. But that never lasted long as he finally noticed the full effect of my words. A slight, reassured smirk escaped his lips as he told me in his usual cheerful tone.

"Thanks, isn't that all I ever do?"

In a start, Ricochet took notice of his laid-out beer bottles, taking one of the largest ones and pouring out a thick clear liquid into two shot glasses from his drawer. He then handed me the small glass. Worriedly I inspected the cup, thinking that this was some cheat day before Ricochet explained.

"Don't worry; it's just water. Unfortunately, I've been sober since this training shit started; I just keep the bottle to keep up the act. Nonetheless, I think now's as good of a time as any to make a toast to our continued training. To stay on that Grind and all that crap," he said in a charmingly dull tone.

With that, an infectious smile took over my face as I decided to indulge the man once more.

"To staying on that grind and crap."

With that, the 2 of us had our drink in our form of victory. The first of many, I hope.