I first saw Vengeance
Glaring across the ring
She appeared out of nowhere
Her body was full of an energy that made her seem much too large for the small space she occupied.
If looks could kill, Vengeance would be on an FBI watchlist, her eyes shot daggers.
Black hair tied in a once neat ponytail, beaded with diamonds of sweat
With every hit my glove made against the worn red bag, she pushed it back to me forcefully.
“More intensity,” she demanded, and crossed her arms.
The bag swung, matching the pace of the flickering light hanging from the cracked ceiling.
Body aching, thoughts swirling, Vengeance held her hand out, passed me a towel.
She appeared to me then, at my lowest point to remind me to get off my feet, I had something to prove.
Vengeance only shows herself on special occasions.
She's always in the dark, in places that cause both pain and triumph.
Vengeance is late nights and early mornings, half finished cases of water and shirts so soaked in sweat you can wring them out.
She's the ache of the fight and the pride of winning. Vengeance is smiling at the girl who said she wore that outfit better than you and winking at the boy who got bored of settling.
Vengeance is walking away from the silence and smirking.
Vengeance stopped showing up places little by little, it was at my graduation that she disappeared for good. When I returned back to my plastic folding chair, Triumph was giddy, sitting in the once occupied chair. She beamed at me and held the engraved diploma casing up to the light. “You made it,” she said, and Vengeance gave me a final wave as she snuck out the back door.
