The Fight

Your head rings with absent thought and sensation. The bell rung and continues to ring in your ears. The fist hits again. Your head is spinning with the impact. But I stay on my feet. This isn’t how I go down. Although enveloped in the sight of pitch and every sensation is dazed as the brain is adjusting, I listen. I can hear the grunts of force and the steps of others coming; I can sense the world around me is near letting go. But I am not giving up, not this time.

I reach back as a man collides with my out stretched arms. I grab hold of his shirt, and use my right palm against his chin. The force of it drops him on impact as I swing him to the floor, I feel my ribs break as another hit lands on the left. The punishment of physical strength is taking a toll, but the piper isn’t paid and the reaper not satisfied. I grab the attacker and pull him in, with the twist of a waist and a pivot he is thrown off balance to his knees, I keep momentum feeling his skull crush against linoleum tiles. The attacks have stopped long enough that I can see, blood is pouring down my right eye, and another wound at the back of my head. I can feel it dribbling down my back in warm rivets. I am loosing blood but its not over yet. I look at the last three, I wait as they wait for the next move. Two of their fellows plus one that was first. They re afraid and guarded now, I have an upper hand. One pulls a knife, the other a gun, the third is just big and dumb. The pecking order is as expected, the big guy comes swinging, throwing a hay maker or a left, must have been a lefty. Normal man would dodge this and not take another, but the Devil in me is not normal. I take the punch, but as I do, I feel up on his throat and with a quick grip of death, squeeze. I feel the larynx pop. The one with the knife came next, the blade cutting across my right arm as big boy falls to the floor on . He is choking and needs immediate help. I feel the sting of the cut, and still I am smiling, the Devil uses pain.

Rage pours out of me  as he goes for another slice, and I grab hold his fist and roll it in, a tweak of the elbow and push. The knife is sheathed home. The gun I know is coming I hear the first wild “pop” of it. I know it is there, but I am rage of the devil and all i feel is hate. The wild shot again as I make my charge. Some would consider it lucky to have survived, the trick was I was hoping he wouldn’t miss. I look forward to the end because it is just that the end, but although I embrace it; I will not simply give in. The gun finally silent as is the room, a muffled gurgle and a few last moments. I tidy up, and handle the rest. I walk back over and pick up the phone on the floor. I flip it open and hold number 8. My head is bleeding badly and I feel a bit dizzy, but now isn’t the time to rest. I pack up some things. I look around the room. and leave.

The car is still waiting for me as the ringing on the phone finally ceases. “Yeah?” The voice on the other side isn’t Him. but he speaks for Him. “I am bleeding, but it didn’t go well.” I tell him. “What happened?” The voice asks. “They chose to attack me, you may want to send someone.” I didn’t want to see a doctor, and I definitely didn’t want to see the “specialist”. “Done. ____________ says don’t bleed on the fucking seat.” Click. And it’s done. The driver hands me a towel as i get in the back. I lay it nicely on the seat. The city lights are going by and I fall into the haze, and let go to the sleep.

I think some would get the wrong idea, to think this something special or crazed. To think this as someone who was either lucky, stupid or brave. This isn’t that kind of story, it isn’t that kind of fact. It is all just a fight.

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