The blank space of void fills my head, the silence of a cold cellar shrouds my thoughts. I hear the sound of voices, no, a crowd. They clamor like savages watching fire burn. Their shouts and screams make me tremble, with a jab and a cross I hit my target's face and the crowd rumbles the arena.
But then I snap back into reality. I look around for a crowd to cheer me on but all I see is a locker room filled with old gloves and tattered shoes. My feet jitter and patter on the hard cold pavement. I can see that the ones before me did the same, the ground almost felt sunken in by nervous feet.
Lights flash open, I almost thought the sun was in the room. Yet all I see is a referee. He told me to show my gloves to him and I complied. He wrote his initials TH, Thomas Howard, on the wraps around my wrist. I hear his clapping footsteps from his expensive dress shoes. I stand up and feel myself almost shrink.
My heart started beating hard, almost to the point I couldn't breath, I was already tired before the fight even started. I hear the clapping steps close in on me. I feel his rough hands with experienced calluses lay on my shoulder, I open my eyes and see an old man about the age of 60. His head is filled with silver hair, the wrinkles on his face and beautiful blue eyes. If he was as young as me, I'm sure he would've been handsome and strong.
I listen to the raspy voice of his telling me "Don't worry son, everyone gets scared. Sometimes you just have to grip your fist, clench your teeth and punch." His words stuck with me and I felt a little bit of courage in me. I dropped my jaw down and was ready to say thanks, but I didn't, I was still a scared man pretending to be strong.
He patted me and told me to follow him outside and to wait for my name to be called. I followed the small old man, his steps ringed in my ears. I felt the age of my clothing caressing down on me. My robe brushed on my back, my gloves felt ready to rip from a single punch, the soles of my shoes were torn by my heel so much so I could feel the pavement on my feet, my white shorts with no name, my cup felt like it was going to fall through my shorts and mouth guard wasn't even molded to my teeth.
The whispers of the previous crowd felt louder than when they were excited for the fight they just watched. As I passed the empty hallways and saw boxes placed randomly, I saw the ceiling which was just the bottom of the stands. I came to a sudden pause with the feeling of an arm patting my gut.
"Wait right here, the announcer will call you up, alright."
I just nodded and simply stood there, I watched as the referee walked past the stands with the crowd waiting for the next fighters, me and my target. After just about a few seconds I felt something rushing into me, my body started hopping like I was using a jump rope. Moving side to side and simply warming up. I ran through combinations, I shadow boxed my enemy, feeling the force of his punches and setting him up, I was in my own world.
Then I snapped awake as I heard music, it sounded like rapping or something. I was too poor to even afford music to train to, but this music was nice. It felt like a melody in my ears. "Hush little baby don't you cry….."
"Now comes the contender, a man from nowhere, a man with a name unknown, Eeeeeelllllliiiiiii Jeeeeettttttt.""
"Oh my name's Eli Jet, I guess it was my time to walk up, So I will. I will walk up into that ring and fight with everything I've got. Come on, come on. But there is no music, that's alright. I probably couldn't afford it, Haha." I muttered this to myself in an attempt to calm myself down. Although It didn't work too well.
"Welcome folks, my name is Marcus and with me is James commentating to you all, live at the Madison Square Garden, February 17th 2022 waiting for our headline fight about to commence."
"Eli Jet, he seems to have a very promising record right now 2-0, there is a lot of tension as he was somehow able to get a world title shot with just 2 wins."
"Well my fellow commentator, He won both those fights against veterans with both having more than 60 fights and not only did he win but he won in the first 30 seconds in both. Though my only question is where did he come from?"
"Texas James, we have almost no records on him, his parents are a mystery, his gym is a mystery everything is a mystery, we have his stats, place of birth and that's about it."
"Marcus what type of training did this young man get? He is 20, 5'11, 75 inch reach, 160 pounds on weigh in, he is a great middleweight. Honestly, the power on his punches are terrifying. Knocking out two great fighters in less than 30 seconds."
"Enough of the stats James, Mr.Jet is making his first steps onto the canvas."
There I was, my first pounding steps into this ring, it was terrifying. "Wow my heart is pounding, is that my opponent standing in the red corner. I guess I'm on the blue side, I'll throw my robe out of the ring. Ok close your eyes and breathe, move your legs a bit, shake up your arms. You are strong, best him and win." At least that's what I was thinking during the time.
"Hey there son, you're still feeling nervous, be ready and protect yourself at all times. You will be okay if you fight well."
The raspy voice of Thomas Howard. That man gave me the energy to stand up, he gave me power that was needed to boost myself. I nodded to him as I gritted my teeth and prepared myself to fight.
My opponent was Brasius Bratholomue James Pastor. Yes quite the mouth full, the announcer just called him Brasius Brass Knuckles. It was because his fist slammed so hard that it was like he had brass knuckles in his gloves. I for one didn't even think he looked too tough. But for some reason I still jittered my foot around.
"James, what do you think about your twin? You think he's got a chance against the 30 second finisher?"
"Marcus I told you before we started this to not mention our semblance. But, yes I do believe Brasius has almost a 100% chance of winning, he is the middleweight division world champion. He has 30 wins with 0 losses and he has defended his title for 10 fights already. Every fighter he's gone against also had different fight styles, a man with both brain and brawn."
"Ok stat nerd, but I completely agree reading from his official stats 6 foot tall, 80 inch reach, 27 years of age also 160 pounds on weigh in and from the looks of it he seemed to put on some extra he looks a good 185 to me."
"Well Marcus, Brasius is indeed quite the talented man, but do you think he can withstand the pure unrelenting strength of Jet?"
"Stat nerd James, you should at minimum realize that Brasius has only ever lost in his first round in
the score boards and only 3 times has he let the fight be decided by the scoreboard."
"Marcus, Brasius is just a sitting duck in the first round, we both know this, he hardly even punches then, Jet on the other hand never once let his opponent last more than 30 seconds. Do you honestly think Brasius even has a chance? The odds are stacked against him."
"James those odds maybe but not the odds of the crowd, they bet on Brasius 10-1."
"Enough of the chatter, the match is about to start."
Brasius stood in his corner with his team. He seemed more than ready to fight and take down his insignificant opponent.
"Ay Brass lad, don't underestimate this kid alright, play it like how you usually do and remember to keep your promise to your wife, retire with your 31st fight."
"Yea yea yea, Arthur you've been at my side much longer than I could even remember, but when have I ever lost, not even in middle school did those high school kids take me on."
"Brass, Do.Not.Be.A.Fucking.Dumbass. Let Bionca stop having to worry about you. She can't stand to see you fight. I can't do it anymore either. I thought I could but I can't, someone's gonna come and they just might kill you one day."
"Arthur, look at my eyes, fuck them. I will beat them even if I can barely see. I will simply learn his rhythm in the first round and scare him to fight on the back foot. Like every single other time. I know I can do this, but I think I want a kid now, so I'll make sure that Bionca gets me one."
"Dammit Brass, you're too damn motivating, just go out there and fight well."
Arthur places in Brasius's mouth guard and takes off his black robe. The two of us walked to the middle of the ring. The intense stare down sent shivers down everyone's spines. Brasius's look was so mean that I was scared terribly. He was different from my last two fights, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
"Alright boys, I want a good and clean fight, we all know the rules, looks like your shorts aren't too high and you both look good. Protect yourselves at all times. Now touch gloves and head back to your corners."
We both touched gloves and walked back to our corners. I stood while waiting for the bell, I felt every nerve in my system telling me it's time to shine.
"Alright Brass, I want you to just poke at him for a bit, see where he punches and find that rhythm. I recommend keeping him at the end of your jab, he looks like an infighter with his robust physique. He also seems to put his best in the first few moments of the fight, let him punch air until the third round, he is inexperienced and will probably fight like a bull."
Brasius nodded, he quickly kneeled and crossed himself asking God for strength. He got up and pumped his fist towards his wife in the front crowd who seemed like she could hardly stand the sight but anxious for Brasius to end it quickly.
Eli on the other hand stood there menacingly, his fists are up and he is in his stance to fight. He never even looked behind himself for support from any kind of team, simply because he didn't have one.
DING DING DING.
"And with the sound of the bell the two fighters will initiate the fight." - James
"A flurry of Jabs from Brasius keeps Jet away and not allowing him to engage and it seems like it's working." - Marcus
"Look at that beautiful technique from Jet, blocking and catching every jab but he can't push in." - Marcus
"Let's go for a strong hit" - Brasius strategizes for a strong hook.
With a few more jabs and plenty of feints, Brasius is able to land a powerful hook right to the liver.
"Damnnn, that was a beautiful hook, and it looks like Jet felt it!!" - Marcus
"Well it also looks like Jet is already recovering and ready for some more action" - James
"Fuck fuck fuck, that shit fucking hurt." - Jet thought as he regained his composure to answer the hook.
"Jet jabs, it clashed with Brasius's jab, oh and a cross too. No way, the two are legit having a clash of fist like it's some anime." - Marcus
"It's 20 seconds in, Jet is ready for take off." - James
Eli brings his fists in, he starts bobbing and weaving shots from Brasius. Every shot Brasius throws Eli's ducks and evades. And with one over-extended cross from Brasius. Eli replies with a hook to the liver, an uppercut to the chin, and a fearsome right hook aiming to break a jaw.
"There he is, Eli Jet, the new dynamite boy, and it seems Brasius falls to the canvas." - James
"Holy sh-, did his jaw come off?" - Marcus
With Brasius on the floor Eli began to walk away as he waited for the count to start. Blinded by adrenaline he didn't think about anything, his brain was locked in and waiting for the command to fight again.
Before I even realized it, the ref called off the fight. I was looking at the blinding lights above, so bright it was like I'm in the desert. I felt so out of place that I didn't even realize his jaw was no longer connected to his skull and only hung on by the skin.
Paramedics rushed to the scene and started to carry off Brasius's body. With a second I heard a furious running towards me and all I saw was a fist flying at my face. I promptly moved out of the way and before anything else could happen people held down this furious man, his eyes were blue and hair was blonde, his sight was raging in sadness and anger. I don't believe he was thinking during that time. All I heard before being grabbed by the referee and being declared the winner was.
"YOU, HE WAS GOING TO BE A FATHER, WHY DID YOU DO THAT…"
The man started to cry, his tears flowed from his blue eyes.
"Why just why.. why"
He proceeded to let out the most heart wrenching scream I've ever heard, I don't know if he was sane after that. The people who held him down helped him back up, they were attempting to comfort him.
I felt a hand lift my glove to the sky, and an announcer stating.
"We have the new middleweight division champion of the world, Eli Jet."
The announcer sounded as if he was holding back rage, then I looked toward the crowd.
"BASTARD!!"
"F--KING RE----!!"
"YOU ASIAN ---- ----- OF THE WORLD!!"
There were so many slurs and painful words being thrown at me, my legs felt weak and my eyes teared up. A microphone brought by a young man with a tag named James, was placed to me. I knew I had to say something.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what I've done to you all, I just fought with my all and I thought I was doing my best, but if everyone hates me for being the new champion, I will gladly announce my retirement here. Goodbye and I'm sorry for whatever I've done to hurt you all."
I walked away past the ropes that encompassed the scene. I felt the cold pavement on my feet, I felt bottles thrown at me, same with words, same with anything that was around. I simply muffled my ears with my gloves and walked into my locker room.
When I arrived, everything was the same, cold, dirty and lonely. I spat out my mouth guard , I ripped off my glove with my teeth, I sat down on the surface of the seats there.
"What did I really do wrong, I thought they wanted a fight and that's what I did, why do they hate me so much." I muttered to myself while ruffling up my hair and scratching my head.
Then the door creaked open with the old man Thomas who walked in with a pair of scissors. The clacking of his shoes was distinguished.
"Hey there son, give me your hands real quick." Thomas proceeded to cut open the terribly made wraps on my hand.
"Tell me your story." Thomas said in his raspy voice while gently unwrapping Eli's warps.
I simply compiled and I rambled on till everything I was holding back was let out. The unmolded mouthpiece tore into my gums, as I was telling him slowly about my past. Oh how his words of comfort helped me, he was guiding me more than any figure i've had before.
It was a long story but I kept it as short as possible so he could listen along but hopefully wouldn't get tired of it. I felt his rough hands filled with decades of experience and his kind but stern voice speak to me.
"Son, I've had plenty of children your age come to me for advice, but you're the first I've had to break the news to."
The room fell silent for a bit, quieter than a predator stalking his prey.
"Brasius Bratholomue James Pastor, is dead."