Posted by William Laroche
on 3/29/2008, 10:19 am
71.85.115.38
Darkness. That was all that could be seen of the cheap hotel room William Laroche found himself in. Well, all but the orange illuminant end of a cigarette he held between the fingers of his right hand. Bringing it to his lips he took a drag, the light brightening for a mere moment before going back to it's dull hue. Laying in a bed that couldn't be seen, covered by sheets of the same nature, he pondered his life. All that he had done and experienced. All that he had learned and implemented. The countless fights he had fought and the battles he had won. All of this he pondered now.
Was he right for coming back to America. Was his decision to join SFT the right one. Would he succeed or would he fail. These also were thoughts he pondered. The orange light moved to the right and with a flick of his thumb ashes fell into an ashtray only he knew was there.
Laroche knew his art form and teachings would serve him well. He knew that his experience in the underground streetfighting world proved his toughness. He didn't know however, that when underlights, infront of millions, if he would choke or not. He didn't know if he would be able to handle a steady pay check that would not only afford him luxuries, but a stable life. His had been one of constant travel. Unstable and unknowing was it. Now it would be the complete opposite.
He would always know who his opponents were and when they would face. He would now know the stipulations and the consequences of winning or losing. Before it was just beat the guy senseless and take what they gave you. He was unsure of it all now, he only hoped for the best.
Taking another drag, the orange end moved to the invisible ashtray and faded to nothingness. William Laroche would soon find out how fate would treat him. He would soon find out if his destiny was more than he hoped. Rolling over to his side, he closed his eyes and fell to asleep. Behind his lids all he saw was...darkness.
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