NBA Dramatique, Prelude 15

He could remember past achievement. He would take a group of men that were nothing but potential and would make them far greater than they had ever been. He made himself the forge, the hammer, and the anvil so that he could make them into swords. He could turn a man into a weapon of war, and then turn them as a group into a phalanx. They would hate him for it. They would feel abused and mistreated, overworked and under-appreciated. Then they would win, and feel like champions. They would understand that everything he had done to them was actually for them. He used to do it often, but it was becoming less common.

He could remember past glory. He had led armies that trampled their enemies into dust over and over again. There was a time when he could not lose, when he knew at the end of one war that he was sure to win the next. Those victories had become far less common. He felt in some moments (which he kept to himself) that the last victory may have been The Last Victory. He was old, he knew, and he was tired, he had to admit. He wouldn’t be commanding the army this time, but instead would seat himself within the bureaucracy and manipulate as much as possible from afar. Maybe if things looked promising after a few skirmishes, he would come down from his seat into the fields again. Maybe.

He ran one hand over his slicked-back hair and sighed. He crossed his arms over his chest and paced the room, thinking of ways to unleash the fury and the frustration he felt. He was a devil, and this was Hell.

Another man was nearby, also remembering past achievement. His memories were not so long ago. He was recognized as a fierce combatant during his first year at war. In his third year of war, he rallied his fellow troops when all hope seemed gone, and they conquered their foe, after conquering all others. He hoisted the flag above his head and the defeated armies looked on with blood and dirt in their eyes.

He was in Hell, and things had a way of coming undone. After his victory, he was being called one of the greatest warriors of all time. But then injuries and shame surrounded him. He found that his body was not strong enough to fight as hard as he had been. He found that his allies were not strong enough to win without him. They were crushed. They fell apart. Soldiers defected and even the commander seemed to give up.

He was not old. He was not tired. He was young and fast and strong. He refused to stay down if he had the strength to rise. He was not ready to give up and was not ready to accept defeat. He was working now to improve, and had been working for months. He wasn’t going to get younger, but he was getting faster, he was getting stronger, he was getting meaner. He was remembering the fire in his gut that allowed him to pull his comrades along with him when they were too tired. He was forgetting the doubt that had come to live with him during his periods of injury. He was finding the forge, the hammer, and the anvil inside himself.