Bounce Off

In the dimly lit nightclub known as “The Abstract Abyss,” there was a bouncer named Frank. He was a mountain of a man, muscles sculpted like the marbled gods of old. But what set him apart was his new gentle disposition, amidst a world of egos. See, Frank had decided to change his ways and try a different approach to bad attitudes. Rather than punching people or throwing them through doors, he had been told about a new way of dealing with cockwombles. Disarming through words. He wasn’t so sure about this feeble method but he’d recently met a nice young lady who happened to be a therapist. Pretty often had a way of making you change your mind. 

One Friday night, as the thumping bass reverberated through the walls, a man named Chance sauntered towards the entrance. Chance was the epitome of arrogance, with a stupid name and a perpetual sneer etched on his face. Frank steeled himself, determined to change his approach this time even though visions of Chance being thrown onto the street seemed more appetising. 

“Good evening, sir. Do you have tickets?” Frank inquired, fighting back the natural urge to unleash his temper.

“Tickets? I don’t need tickets. I’m Chance Cheswick and I basically own this city,” he said, shoving his puny chest forward.

Frank took a deep breath, resisting the urge to engage. Instead, he decided to employ humour to defuse the situation. “Oh, my apologies! We must’ve missed the memo about your coronation. VIP entrance is that way,” Frank said, pointing toward the exit.

Chance laughed, albeit with a hint of confusion. “You’re not like others,” he remarked, surprised by the unexpected response.

“That’s right,” Frank grinned, his temper restrained by the potential success of his new approach. “I find that violence is so last season, don’t you?”

Inside the club, another situation was brewing. Verity, an IT girl of dubious reputation, was causing a commotion. She was famous for her fits of rage and trouble-causing. Frank didn’t know why else she was famous and thought she could do with a good spanking. However, he headed inside to tackle the situation without resorting to fisticuffs. 

“Hey Verity, the dance floor isn’t a wrestling ring for your drama. Let’s keep it classy,” he said, forcing a grin.

“Who do you think you are, Mr. Sunshine?” Verity draped her arms around Frank’s huge neck and began to shimmy.  Under normal circumstances, Frank might have pegged this one for a 4 AM after-work bit of sport, with some angst thrown in to keep it rough. However, Frank now had a lovely lady and needed to practice diplomacy along with morality. He twirled Verity around long enough to make her feel rather dizzy and dropped her at the bar next to a young, wet-behind-the-ears, but good-looking dude. Maybe Verity could help him grow up some. 

“Now, go shake a leg and let’s keep the peace, shall we?” Frank said. “Have a nice little chat with this young man.”

Throughout the night, Frank continued to charm the aggressive and the arrogant, employing wit and patience to keep the atmosphere light and jovial. As the night turned into day, the usual bouncer battles were absent. Well, his were, at least. 

Frank left the club and made his way to the gym. He could feel the lingering frustration of suppressing his temper all evening like a storm ready to unleash its fury. The smell of sweat and determination filled the air. Frank headed straight to the corner where the punching bags hung, waiting for their daily beating.  He laced up his gloves and wrapped his knuckles, ready to release the beast within.

With every jab, every hook, and every cross, he poured out the suppressed emotions. The bag absorbed his wrath as if it were an old friend, understanding the dichotomy of this existence – a gentle doorman by night and a  furious force of nature by day. Each hit was a release as he channelled the stress of the night,  finding solace in the physicality of his workout.

As time passed, the tension began to dissipate. The bag, now sporting a battered facade, reflected the battle within Frank’s psyche. He took a moment to catch his breath. Finding balance in life was an ongoing struggle. As Frank unclenched his fists he made a silent vow to continue his quest. In the end, he was both the gentle giant and the relentless warrior, and somehow, that made this journey all the more intriguing. He wiped his brow, a sense of understanding washing over him. The gym had once again provided its therapeutic magic.

Inktober 2023

31 Days – 31 Drawings 31 Tales