Run, Run fast. faster. don't stop. He's screaming, telling me never to come back, never to live the life I was living. RUN! Don't turn back. Keep going, never stop. Promise me.
I promise.
His hair dripping, dripping in sweat, rain, blood, alcohol.
This was never supposed to happen, we were only supposed to tell them we were finished. We were finished with this life. No more.
No more hiding, no more loosing for money.
We were fighters, not boxers, not UFC fighters. We were fighters. Just that fighters. We fought for our lives, our money, our food, our homes, and most of all our titles.
Our titles.
Mine? No how about his?
He, unknown. He wasn't unknown but he is unknown. His odds? High, I never kept track of odds, they only made me depressed and afraid for each fight we both went into.
My title? One. Why one? Because that's all it took, one hit.
That's all it took both of us, one hit. One hit to exit out of the cage and collect our large wad of cash. But, it doesn't work like that. No not in the underground business.
You are assigned. You enter the underground cage as singular, a person needing to fight to scrape up some cash so they can scrape by. That's how I got here.
I started fighting when I was 10. My mom died leaving me with my father; a construction worker. A man who knew nothing about raising children because his Betty home maker wife did it for him. I didn't resent him. He loved my mom and treated her right.
Her death?
Mommy was coming home with some groceries, crossing the road. Bags to heavy and big she couldn't focus on the oncoming vehicle. She died instantly, her head snapping back cracking her head off of her body.
When she died my father lost all hope and needed a job that would fit better with caring for me. So he got a desk job, but needed more income.
How did I come across this "job". A man, a contract, a basement, and a lot of money.
I've been in the ownership business a long time. I have never fought for the sake of myself.
Him? He began fighting at 16 and got "signed" onto the same ownership. Now we were both pieces in a game of financial chess.
He was the King.
I was the Queen.
We were the most valuable fighters in the business. Both fighting from a young age.
Me knowing how to follow directions, him having some difficulties.
How we met?
His match was before mine. I watched. He was supposed to loose in the 4th. He did, but horribly. The other guy locked his head in between his knee and the cage. A huge gash forming in the back of his head. I was watching it for as he was heavily kicked into the side of it. The whole time his eyes locked to mine, almost as if begging me to put him out of his misery. I could tell he had one too many fights that week and he was overworked. My heart started to beat and then I jumped up onto the cage, calling it off. He was out, he needed to stop. My dad luckily not there for that fight. He told me never to get attached to these men involved in this business, never have empathy just sympathy and move on. The reff - just a drunk old man who watches fights as a religion - looked at me and I cut it. He checked on him and noticed he was in shock. I hopped over the cage and pulled him off of him, the whole time my owner staring at me with a slight smirk on his face.
It took some effort getting him into the change rooms because the crowd was going insane, but when he did he couldn't sit up. I asked for a first aid kit, the medic was too drunk to help. He was looking around almost as if he didn't know where or who he was.
Hi, can you tell me your name?
I blinked. I slapped a his face a little, dabbing his forehead with a wet cloth.
What's your name?
His mouth parted Unknown.
I nodded Do you know where you are?
The cage.
How do you feel? Point to what hurts.
He points to his.
Ok, just relax you have a wide gash on the back of your head and a heavy concussion, I`ll make it better though.
He gently smiled, almost as if he did it too fast it would hurt.
What`s your name?
I looked down into his eyes One.
That's how we met. From that day we were inseparable. Why? Because I had to fight him. I was a female but there were few females in my weight class so the paired me up with men sometimes.
He had a debt to owe and overworking him was paying this debt.
I beat him, but almost killed him.
Now here we are.... me running him screaming.
All I can hear is the ringing in my ears from the shot. The single shot.
I stop and turn back and see him crumpling down on the ground.
Our owner standing there with gun in his hand, shaking his head. He gives him one more kick then walks off.
I can feel the welt in my throat swell to the size of a tennis ball, and when I call out to him nothing comes out.
I run, run towards him, run to his crumpled body.
The rain comes down hard, the alley was smelling of garbage, and the faint sound of cheers coming from the underground cage come seeping through the concrete. I fall to his body, and when I turn him over.... Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
Emptiness.
A shell.
Sadness.
Yet a slight pleasure in his eyes.
One fight, we both go against our owner. We hoped we could leave right after, and we did. We left we got out, just not quick enough.
He lies there still and cry. His dark hair stuck to the side of his face and blue eyes becoming paler seemed the only human part about him. I push my head down on his broad chest and slowly bring my hand to the wound over his heart. His musky smell no longer present only the scent of metallic blood.
I didn't notice the steps, I was so immersed in holding him, never wanted to let go. When I looked up the barrel was pressed firmly to my forehead. Behind it.... my owner.
For a girl who has been in this for 11 years you'd expect her to notice her place, especially the One Queen.
I shuddered in pure fear, sadness, and anger.
You should know out of everyone that a real fight is one where the results are a surprise and that a fighter only lives on unpredictability. You killed your top male fighter and now your about to kill your best fighter of all time.
You're wrong One I will find another like you.
No, because I am One and there is only One of me.
Then the bullet was ignited and ran through the barrel slowly leaving and entering into my brain, killing me instantly, my brain being painted onto the ground.
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