Naturally, I wasn't born an amazing fighter. It took years of non-stop training.
A part of that training was getting into fights with classmates. I started off picking fights with practically no experience. We'd go somewhere off-campus and fight until one of us could no longer stand which, at the start, I was left battered and bruised in the dirt, unable to move for well over an hour at times.
The final fight I lost was the most brutal. A guy thought his girlfriend liked me so he decided we could fight it out, seeing as I had become a decently known fighter among my classmates.
The brawl lasted about 5 minutes and immediately I could tell he wanted to do more than simply beat me up. At the time the voices were faint, echoey, kind of like trying to listen in on a conversation happening in a different room. I could more often get the gist of what they were trying to say, this time it was just - stay alive and try killing him first.
I spent most of the time trying to dodge his blows and landing as many kicks to his knees as I could to wear him out as much as possible. Sadly though, I was growing tired as well, I started taking hits. First to the gut, multiple to the face, a few to the side. It all felt like a blur. I no longer had the strength in me to dodge, I fell to the ground, my world spinning and him kicking my almost unconscious body.
Someone eventually pulled him off of me and the crowd slowly dissipated, leaving me unable to move, my eyes fixed on the sky with rage, disappointment, shame and embarrassment shuffling through my mind.
I laid there for a few hours. Unable to feel the tears streaming down my face or understand the abusive tone the voices had taken up.
I was finally able to push myself up and walk home long after dinner had already been served.
This loss did not waver my will to become fast or strong. If anything, it motivated me to try even harder. I don't know if this desire to become some kind of lethal weapon was on me or influenced by my parents and, primarily, the voices.
After stumbling through the door I immediately collapsed. I think being doused with blood and clearly multiple injuries from a broken nose and chipped teeth to a fractured knee frightened mother seeing as I vividly remember her cries for someone else in the house to call an ambulance. I felt the sting of my bruises when she took me up into her arms and repeatedly told me everything will be okay.
I miss being told everything would be okay...
The boy faced no charges, I never ratted him out... But he is gone now, he passed away after a recent fight he accepted and lost miserably.
