Over the time they spent together, the friendship between Esteban and Diego grew and grew. They became firm friends, and slowly Esteban's frosty exterior began to melt away. He even began to socialise on occasion with some of the other classmates. Naturally he was still not particularly talkative, but he was now going almost everywhere with Diego, instead of being alone.
However, this didn't really mean cycling. Esteban hadn't found any joy in riding his bike, not since he was forced to for so long. Diego was not a particularly keen cyclist either, he had never properly learnt, nor did he have any need or ambition to. They were happy enough to live out their lives in a normal way, at least for most of their lives, with no real thoughts as to either of them's future. In the end, neither would have predicted the outcome.
Unfortunately for Diego and Esteban, Colombia was not much safer a place to be brought up than Peru, there were constant struggles between gangs, cartels, and the police. The cities had no order, and many smaller areas were ran by the drug lords. Wherever they went, a crowd of scared civilians hid in the shadows. The number of civilian casualties in Colombia was rising, and the efforts of the government to attack drug dealers and guerrillas had so far only caused more conflict
When Esteban and Diego went out to the market to get food for the orphanage, it was just a day like any other. It didn't end like one. Without any warning, they heard gunshots coming from behind them, first just one, then more and more, till they drowned out the screams and terror in the market. Esteban dived to the floor instantly, Diego was not so lucky. They had both heard gunshots before of course, everyone had, but never so close.
Diego stood there in shock, his friend scrambled desperately for more cover, shouting across to him, but it was no use. He was stock still, frozen as the world around him unfolded, until a haywire piece of metal spun out of a barrel, and flew into his shoulder. It pierced the flesh and bone, just to the side of his chest. He spun round, flailing and fell, to the floor. Even the sounds of the fighting could not drown out Esteban's shouting that day. But that was all he could do. He froze, and sat, crying, watching, as his best friend bled to his death. He was still, like a coward, when Diego was dying, and those minutes passed like an eternity, but they changed him forever.
The death of Diego changed Esteban in a very different way to the death of his parents. He was not withdrawn, or empty at all, in fact, if anything it made him more outgoing. However, for a boy who had lost friends and family this was not necessarily a good thing. To the outsider it might not seem like he was suffering at all, but he was.
For the next few months all of Mrs Jiminez's good work began to unravel. In some ways he became more like the other boys, he became more troublesome, and more aggressive. Even they held him in a position of fear, the change was so rapid that he was almost a leader to them. However, Esteban did not seek to make any friends, he did not like any of the other boys, nor did they particularly like him, although whether they looked up to him was another matter.
His influence was getting ever more troublesome to the orphanage. Every time he was in a fight or any dispute, another boy would do something similar. Since many of them were criminals anyway, this was all the encouragement they needed. He was their champion, and slowly the orphanage became a den of thugs and thieves.
This was enough to finally break Mrs Jiminez. She had been through a lot in her time, but for her to see her son die, and the trouble caused by her boys shattered her morale. Mrs Jiminez stood by while slowly the people she had nurtured and cared for descended into common criminals. It saddened her, but her sadness only further fostered her isolation and depression. It would take a violent shunt for her to do anything to turn things around.
Mrs Jiminez's orphanage was beginning to have a noticeable negative impact on the area. The police had warned her, that if the boys did not clean up their act, then the orphanage would be shut down, and some of the boys could be facing criminal charges. It was a wake up call for her, and she finally caught up with reality, and began to try and tackle the problems she was facing.
The only way to tackle the unrest was to the strike at the head of the problem, which meant Esteban. She approached him just before dusk at the orphanage, pleading with him to change. She knew her son's death had as huge, (if of a different sort) an impact on him. For her, she felt she needed to encourage Esteban back to what he enjoyed doing. Considering his only possession when she saw him was a tattered bike, she guessed this was cycling.
Unfortunately, this struck a bad note with Esteban. For him, cycling was a painful reminder of his prior troubles. If he was to take up any sport, cycling was last on his list. He was angry, and unable to sympathise with Mrs Jiminez. He shouted, and walked away, into the bitterly cold cloudless night. The sharp cold bit against him, but he did not care, he had to get away, to be in control of himself, and stop his anger. The last Mrs Jiminez saw of him was a dark shadow among the dark of the night around him
@Sutty: It might be sooner than you think before we see some cycing for once
The Last Flight of the Fighter
Esteban did not return that night. He was too angry, and too stubborn. Instead he slept alone, without anyone, or anything. He was used to it, but that did not make things any easier. When he returned to the orphanage, he was shocked with the most disturbing sight he had seen, in his short but horrific time.
He returned to see the body of Mrs Jiminez, on the floor, dead. To see a figure who had mentored him, someone so strong, seen to be helpless, was a disturbing experience. He knelt and cried, screamed and shouted for minutes, before his expression and persona changed. He finally realised the full extent of the situation, of what he had done.
"Who did this?" His voice was croaky and quivering, but it commanded the same aura of respect among the boys as before. There was no reaction, so he shouted again, till they were shaking in fear. Eventually a few arms began to point. No words were said, but Esteban instantly knew who they meant.
He leapt at the boy, and instantly smashed him to the floor. His head snapped back and struck the stone. Esteban did not stop. He pummelled the boy with his fists again and again. The attack continued even as his victim was lying unconscious, on the stone, his head smashed into a pulp of blood and disfigured facial features. Still it carried on, a ferocious, seemingly unending cauldron of built up anger was being emptied suddenly. No one said a word.
As quickly as it began, things were over. Esteban heard a voice in his head, whether it was Mrs Jiminez, his parents or anyone else he had no idea. This wasn't helping, it was only making things worse. He stopped, got up, and walked away, without looking at any of the boys, standing up or otherwise. He walked out the room, and left the orphanage, this time forever.
Edited by The Hobbit on 13-08-2014 08:20
@Sutty:
@anyone out there... 50 posts Time for a change in mood.
A new start
It took her death for Esteban to see the wisdom in Mrs Jiminez's advice. Esteban may still have been young, but he left the orphanage forever. Instead of sleeping rough and stealing food, he had to turn his life around. At first, this meant skimping and scrounging to try and get by as a teenager without any qualifications or life skills. He took any little job he could, but he couldn't stay in the same place for long.
Whether through some personal challenge, or out of regret at the last thing Mrs Jiminez said, Esteban did begin to start cycling again. After all, it was the only thing he was good at, except getting into fights, and he needed a way to make money. There was no way he could settle down without steady income, and for someone hundreds of miles from home, that was a long shot. Cycling was big in Colombia, and getting bigger, recently lots of clubs had been set up, and there was talk of something bigger, to give youngsters a new hope, and Esteban wanted in.
@Sutty: Yes, it looks like things are going well at the moment.
Back to Cycling
Esteban's cycling was not just a leisure activity. He had put in more miles on a bike than almost anyone his age, anywhere. Still, it had been over a year since he had last ridden, there was an awful lot of rustiness to shake off. That was not going to stop Esteban though. He had a new passion, if you could call it that. He did not love cycling, but it was a healthy way to vent his frustrations, with just him, the bike, and the road ahead.
He saved up and saved up, from all his long hours and little jobs to do all over town. Eventually, he bought himself a new bike. It was not exactly a thing of beauty, but it did the job, and compared to the old broken, rusty version, it rode like a dream. Soon after he joined a local club. It was just somewhere for average people to go, for a bit of fun, and the odd ride, but even so, Esteban's talent stood out. He was obviously one of the strongest riders of his age, and things were about to get much more serious for him.
Not many details exist of the first year or so of Esteban's career. All we have are some photos of him on rides with his club, or rather, without his club. Even when he joined a club, Esteban was not keen on socialising, especially when the only other people there were rich old men.
Compared to the old men, Esteban was clearly a great talent. He was not only riding alone, but riding some way in front, on any terrain, rough roads, uphill, down hill or on the flat, he was always one step ahead. In the end, this was enough to get him noticed.
@All: Sorry for the wait, but as you will probably be able to tell from the coming post, this required quite some effort, especially as it isn' the projects intended purpose.
The Colombian Amateur Cycling League
The formation of the soon to become infamous league occurred in late 2012. After the international acclaim of riders like Rigoberto Uran, Olympic silver medalist, Colombian cycling was in a better position than it had been in years. The governing bodies was keen to make sure this lasted, and that this generation of superstars would not be the last. The next year turned out to be one of their best, but before that, the future of the next decades had to be secure.
The Colombian Amateur Cycling League, or CACL as it became known, was a revolutionary idea, that was soon copied around the world. It acted as a springboard for those who wanted to make it pro, and a platform for those who hadn't. In its early years, it was small and unorganised, the only rule was it was for teams of amateurs, many of whom were development squads for pro teams.
2013 was to be its debut year, and as such scouts were scouring all of South America, and even the international view, for the best amateur riders money couldn't find. In those days team were more interested in results than actually nurturing talent, and as such a wide range of ages, from 16 to 50 were seen, and one of those, was Esteban Mosrambor.
Time for a change in mood.
