Three

Three fights. Three fucking fights. It’s just three fucking fights.

Looking back at it, the first one was the easiest, I was hyped up with an energy of a raging bull, and though twice my size, my opponent was plain stupid. He looked at me as if I was a mere speck, someone that shouldn't be treated seriously, but he didn't know that little ones are the deadliest. We both exchanged a couple of punches and kicks before I got bored and used my favorite trick in the box, pulling that special vein behind the neck.

I started believing long ago that practice makes everything perfect. Through repeated killing, I have honed the craft like a good craftsman; within ten seconds flat the spasm subsided and the dead body dropped cold on the dark flooring. Releasing him, joyous shouting erupted around me signaling the triumph of those lucky bastards who bet for my victory. Yet, win or lose they may be, I don’t have freaking care, for the dead body by my feet was being hauled down the arena. Staring at it, I couldn't count how many times the cycle has gone on an endless rewind; of me hoping not to be forced to do the same act again and how circumstances had always eaten that hope.

The process of thinking was useless, not any moment longer, the second fight began. Unlike the first one, my next opponent was within my height but like the first one, he also got the body of someone who enjoyed eating steroids for breakfast. He was good at fist fighting, my first couple of punches never hit him or even graze for the matter. My stomach started churning with dreadful fear as a kick made me slipped on the sweat-covered floor. An elbow then took a blow on my side and for few seconds the only thing that registered on my ears was the loud cracking of my rib.

"Ah!" I groaned helplessly, curving into a ball. The only thing that I could do then was to protect my head as kick after kick connected to my body. Though nothing seemed to reach my brain but the pain of every hit. It. was. so. much. pain.

"That's it? That's all you got? Pathetic!" shouted the guy as he picked me up by my left ear. "It's easy money for me then. I thought Koskov's new pet would be fun but I guess I was wrong," he snickered closely to my ear then he dropped me hard, banging my head.

I got enough, "I'm not anyone's pet!" I spurted out of frustration. Before another blow hit me, I sprawled to the side grabbing the man's incoming foot. It was so sudden, I caught him off guard and the same wetness made him slipped, face first. A loud umph echoed through the room and I didn't waste any time. I managed to sit up and jumped on his back to take hold of one of his arms. But the man was already unmoving, a pool of blood was already under his head. I felt his pulse with my fingers, he was only unconscious. My work wasn't done yet. I fisted both my hands on his unruly hair then I started pounding.

Pound. pound. pound.

One, two, three, I didn't know for how many. My mind was blank, what mattered was to kill him and be done with it.

A hand grabbed my shoulder, taking me away from the lifeless body under me. I fought through aimlessly; I was restrained by two men. It was seconds before I came back from the relapse. That it finally sunk in how fucking lucky I was. And I noticed how my hands were both covered with red, the blood of the murderer I killed. I cast further my eyes down to the body that was being dragged away, to the dancing blood and to the chunks that were supposed to be the man's brain.

A rumble started in my stomach. My knees became wobbly and they connected to the floor as the men restraining me, loosened their grip. I heaved out air, wanting to puke out the food I last ate but none came out. Only a fit of coughing and a puddle of drool.

I wasn't done yet but I was pulled up to my feet, the audience wouldn't tolerate any stoppage on their stupid game as profanities were shouted in my direction. The third opponent climbed aboard; the biggest manic smile I have ever seen in my entire life was plastered on his face. I cringed at the sight of him, of the scars that adorned his dark skin from head to toe.

He laughed seeing me grew afraid of him. I was, all I wanted to do was crawl somewhere and hide. Each step he took closer to me became an alarm. My body wouldn't move a muscle, it kept negating the frantic orders I was sending my brain. Move! Godammit move! Nothing happened, the pleading was just futile. He was looming closer to me and I couldn't do anything about it.

With the last option in my pocket-- even though I knew it wouldn't work--I used both hands to lift each leg, coaxing them to move, but I was too late. A blow came sending me across the other side of the arena. I hit the metal railings making me groan loudly in so much agony.

Death. It would be so much easier if I died then. The overbearing pain that I was experiencing made the idea more appealing, like that strong craving an addict got for drugs or an alcoholic got for alcohol. At least everything would all stop. I could be free from the nightmares, the monsters, and especially the pain. With broken ribs, strained muscles, bruised body, the feeling of drowning without water was pure torture. I almost wished for the reaper to come and get me. But as my mind jumped back to where I started, putting all the effort into the trash, I felt the adrenaline coursed through my system.

Just another one, the last one, and it would be all done, I reminded myself. I needed to keep going, that was the only option I got. With the remaining ounce of energy left inside me, I managed to stand up.

I would do anything to survive.

Author's Note: bear with me I'm really tired today. Election is tiring. Ugh