I did not know the man whose roaring fist seemed to accelerate with force independent of his body. I did not know the man whose legs worked like spokes of a raging chariot. I did not know the man who wore the face of my brother, but fought as though he were a storm so brutal and quick, it would be easier to allow it to rip through his facade of humanity rather than keep himself bound by flesh.
The event lasted not but a single notch of the timekeeper in one night out of thousands - but it ever lingers in my memory still. In my age, I find I cannot decide whether how these events started was unimportant, or if the black hand has begun to rob me my of mind before my time has arrived. Though there is still wisdom be reaped from these old bones. For I know how this fight must have started as all fights have, excessive use of the wrong muscles.
Although, in truth, once it started it took the crowd few moments to recognize the likely victor of this encounter, I saw the swift painting's end with the first stroke of the brush - a brilliant light in the form of lightening without clouds.
Flash.
With two blurred strides and a leap forward, The blow connected precisely where it had been intended, his elbow digging a agonizing trench half an inch below the center of the chest. In the moment of impact, I reckon a few, not distracted by the excitement of the bloodthirsty crowd surrounding two accidental gladiators heard The solar plexus send a telegraph that his lungs conveyed as a squeak. I doubt anyone other than me recognized the opening, and anticipated the imminent response that my kin was about to follow up with.
Strike.
His foot screamed like a comet, red hot, and erupting from the ground and exploding towards sky. The helpless jaw, and the stunned face attached to it quickly found their way to the floor. After collecting himself, his balance, and his perceived wits, his opponent sailed head on towards the tempest that just bested him.
He seemed to move left and right in unison, deflecting the charge with grace, whilst meeting the subsequent flurry of attacks with his elemental strength. At that moment, he was a stranger to me. The gentle man I knew my whole life had died in front of me and a stranger born anew. Much like his body during the brawl, his character remained A mist to me for the rest of my days. A mist whose true position would only appear after the punch had been thrown, or the question asked.
As the end became apparent to all, with my brother coiled around the victim, or so he had become, and waited for the final jerk of his arm - the sign his consciences had passed. The poorly hung light bounced shimmers of clarity across the clouded and stunned room.
It was then, for the first time in my life, I had seen my brother. The shaft of light struck his face for only a moment, but a glimpse of the truth is all family needs. the gaze in his eyes did not holler with rage, or fear, but with excitement. Thrilled to later dissect his match, and deduce new ways to inflict pain on anyone else foolish enough to awaken his rage.
It was I, alone, who could hear the message of his eye's silent screams. I alone could witness the dreadful truth as to what this moment was to him. To him, this was only a dance. The ballad of a raindrop sliding down the edge of a leaf, only to collect at a unavoidable point where it will fall off again, and become what it never stopped being.
I bestow this advice to you, my kin. Love all men as if they are your brother, But never believe you know your brothers heart. For As more challengers emerged from the shifting crowd, the faster they fell and blow after blow reminded me in quick succession as i watched him fight, I realized just how little I knew of this man, and just how scary he was.