𝙎𝙣𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙚 {𝙏𝙤𝙧𝙮 𝙉𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙨}

𝘼 𝙇𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙘𝙮 𝙍𝙚𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙣

Ezekiel Kreese stood on the football field, his muscles tensed with anticipation. The sun blazed down, casting long shadows across the grass as the team went through their practice drills. Zeke watched as one of the newer players struggled through a linebacker drill. The boy, a bit smaller and less experienced, fumbled his steps and crashed into the tackling dummy awkwardly, drawing laughter and jeers from the other players.

"Come on, Kreese! My grandma hits harder than that!" one player shouted, sending the rest into fits of laughter.

The boy's face turned crimson with embarrassment and anger. Unable to contain himself, he swung a wild punch at one of his tormentors, catching him off guard. The field erupted into chaos as the brawl spread, players grappling and throwing punches indiscriminately.

Later, Zeke found himself in the coach's office, his face still flushed with anger. He stood with his arms crossed, glaring at the coach who was pacing back and forth behind his desk.

"Six fights you've had in practice. SIX!" the coach yelled, slamming a fist on his desk for emphasis. "What the hell is wrong with you, Kreese?"

Zeke's jaw tightened as he struggled to keep his temper in check. "Coach, you don't understand. Those guys were—"

"I don't want to hear it!" the coach interrupted, his face turning red with frustration. "This is football. Everyone's going to be a dick sometimes. It's part of the game."

Zeke's fists clenched at his sides. "Football is about aggression, isn't it? Isn't that what you always say? Play hard, hit harder?"

The coach shook his head, his expression a mix of anger and disappointment. "There's a difference between playing aggressively and starting fights. You've crossed that line too many times, Kreese."

Zeke took a step forward, his voice rising. "They provoked me! What was I supposed to do? Just stand there and take it?"

"Yes, if that's what it takes to stay on the team," the coach replied, his voice firm. "But you didn't. And now, you're off the team."

Zeke felt a surge of fury. "You can't do that!"

"I can and I have," the coach said, pointing towards the door. "Now get out of my office."

Zeke's vision blurred with anger as he turned and punched the wall, leaving a dent in the plaster. The coach watched him with a cold, critical eye. "You might want to get that anger under control, Kreese. Considering your family history."

Zeke spun around, his eyes flashing with fury. "Yeah? I'm not on the team anymore, so why don't you give your shitty advice to someone else."

The coach just shook his head, a look of resignation on his face. "Pack your locker, Kreese. You're done here."

🐍

Zeke drove home with clenched fists gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles white with tension. The frustration and anger from his encounter with the coach churned inside him like a storm. His face was bruised, a testament to the fight that had gotten him kicked off the team. There was only one thing that could help him channel his rage and clear his mind: the heavy punching bag in his basement.

He pulled up to his house, a sprawling property in the upscale neighborhood of Chatsworth, CA. The house, with its manicured lawn and impressive façade, was a stark contrast to the turmoil Zeke felt inside. He stepped out of the car, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary, and was immediately greeted by his mother, Diana.

Diana, a striking woman with dark hair and a concerned expression, hurried over. "Mijo, tu ojo, ¿qué te pasó?" she asked, her voice a mix of worry and frustration.