Children's Games: A Story of Modern Punishment

Chapter 11 - Nikolai

~Nikolai~

Nikolai had nothing else to do and nowhere to put all his pent-up anger.

His hair was sweaty and sticking to his forehead and neck as he punched over and over. His expert footsteps didn't falter as he shuffled around the punching bag, already duct-taped together and spilling dust with every punch. The ache in his muscles didn't discourage him like it would've once.

He had gotten too skinny in his time away. Morning walks and three fat meals a day caused his muscles to weaken and his strength to diminish. He hadn't realised just how much until he had returned and seen pictures of all that he used to be. Now, his wrapped knuckles were broken and bleeding under the force, and he was sweating so much that his eyes stung. His aching muscles hadn't adjusted to the rigorous new exercise regime, and it made him incredibly lethargic.

But underneath all that, he wouldn't stop. Nikolai needed to do this, to feel his body break before it was built back up again. To replenish his strength and determination. To remind himself of who and what he was.

He grunted as he twisted his torso to deliver a mighty blow to the centre of the punching bag, and he tried not to think about the stitches in his leg ripping. He repeated the blows over and over, dancing around the bag and pretending it was a living person.

But after hours of going at it without an end in sight, his punches became sloppy, and his footing was careless enough to make him trip. Nikolai stopped, his head leaning on the old punching bag, finally allowing himself a moment of rest.

"Want a partner?"

Nikolai exhaled, trying to control his breathing. "Get out," he said through gritted teeth. He didn't need to turn to see that it was Anton. It wouldn't have mattered if it was anyone else. No one was welcome.

"D-do you want to talk-"

"NO!! Get out!" he yelled at the incompetent stupid man. He finally turned away from the punching bag to find that his old friend had already scampered off.

These days, everyone either wanted to hit him or talk to him about the things he couldn't talk about. He did not doubt that it was all Anton wanted.

Nikolai pulled the punching bag down, the old fabric ripping from its chain to the ceiling. He threw it at the door of the small communal gym. It slammed shut, ensuring that he was left in solitude.

As he walked to the showers, he unwrapped his knuckles and stared at the new bruises on top of the old ones. They were fading and turning yellow, collectively creating a patchwork, an artwork of disappointment—a reminder of his failures. It covered most of his body from his last mission. The biggest one was a long bruise from a rod across his abdomen.

He sat down on the shower floor, loosely hugging his knees and letting the stream of ice water crash onto the back of his head and soothe his headache. He felt the water trickle around his face and drip from his eyes. The water beneath him was tinged with blood which washed away the longer he sat there brooding. His broken nose had been reset as soon as he had gotten back, but it was still healing, and the water seemed to steep all the way through his nose, burning the centre of his head. He remained still, cold, empty.

Was it worth it? Nikolai sighed. He had done everything they asked. Without question. And yet he had nothing. Everything he had worked towards was meaningless. The people around the base only thought he was interesting because no one was allowed to talk about it. The only thing that made him interesting was that he was a failure.

He screwed his face into a mean expression, roughly wiping the water from his face and getting out of the shower. He eyed the time on the clock above the door as he got dressed in his uniform, trying to hurry without mucking up his timing.