What'd I say? We're Alive.

Opening.

People always talk about taking the next step. One step after another, always coming up with a plan B. They talk about something coming after. After. After what? What comes after? I want to know,

What comes after we die?

The answer to that? Well, nothing. How do I know? I don't, it's just what I hope for.

I want a break, I want this all to end. I want to close my eyes,

I don't want to take another step. No more, please.

...

Slip, punch.

Roll, up, slip, 3, 3.

Each punch, phss.

Slip, swoosh.

When it comes to this, there will always be a next step. No matter what, there is something always coming afterwards.

1,  1,  2,  slip, whooshhh.

Your brain is constantly working, trying to find an opening. A way in. A way to beat your opponent, a way to bring them down and drop them to their knees. It has one goal in mind,

kill them.

"Another jab being dodged by Montclair!" The crowd roars, voices boom off of the stone walls, grown men yelling, cheering for the person they placed bets on.

Again, again, again.

Slip, right foot, slip, left food, slip, right, slip, left.

There.

Slip, jab, roll,

than an 8 to his forehead.

Silence, just mere silence. But it only barely lasts for a second,

"Down he goes! Down down down! Montclair with another kill! An amazing combo dropped the machine of a Rhino! Montclair with the win!" The announcer sure knows their way with words.

The crowd grew even louder, those who lost their bets fuming in frustration. Anger. Those who won, cheering, dabbing each other up. Piles, stacks, wads of cash being gathered and passed to those fortunate enough to make the right call.

I look up, the bright glaring light shining into my eyes. Glistening off of my sweaty forehead, chest heaving. Another win. Another win.

I'm not surprised, I've won every fight I've been in since I've started this path. Since I took my first step. Now? All there's left to do is to take the next.

I climbed over the rope, hopping off and into the crowd. People giving pats on the back, wanting a picture, high fives, being passed some shots but of course I decline. I'm not a drinker, a smoker, or anything to do with the sorts. If I did, I probably wouldn't have the right stamina for this life.

And no matter what, there's no out. You continue running, continue dodging, punching, fighting your way through. And hopefully, just maybe, you'll be fortunate enough to be able to take your next step.

Pushing my way to the backroom, lockers being lent up against the wall, benches sitting in front of them. I walked over to mine, leaning my head against the locker. I did my best to control my breathing, to keep myself together. It took a lot to live a completely different life underground. To be someone you weren't.

But whether or not it's you, whether or not it's your name being cheered on, it is your body doing the work. Finishing the job. Doing what has to be done to continue living, your body forcing your legs to take the next step.

Someone pushes through the door, "Here, your share. Did good again, Monty." I turn around, facing Leroy, blowing smoke out of his mouth. I guess you could call him my mentor if you'd like. He's kind of the one that led me to this event, the only part I did myself was actually be fit enough for the job.

Taking ahold of the envelope, checking the amount.

1,100.

I give him a stiff nod, "I'll be heading out." Putting my stuff together, grabbing my keys and phone. "See you."

I wasn't much of a talker. Stopped wanting to talk 6 years ago. Did the 'why' matter? No. All you have to know is that I prefer not wasting my breath on people that I won't remember in 10+ years. What's the point? People grow apart, they find others, forget about you. Or, they die. Then you're left with this giant pit in your own goddamn body and you're left with absolute nothingness. Why would anyone set themselves up for that?

I reached the bus stop a block away, sitting down on the bench underneath a street light.

Flicker,

Flicker,

Flicker.

It was late at night so the street lamp illuminated the road for whatever it was to be. Empty. Not many people came across these roads; always having homeless people walking around, gunshots, fights. All of the stuff one would keep their children away from. And for a good reason.

I look to my left, a black cat crossing the street. It stopped and noticed me.

People believe that black cats mean bad luck, that something is bound to happen. But when I was 6, I had gotten lost in a different neighborhood. Turned out I was 20 minutes away from my own house. How I found my way back? A black cat. It had these sharp, green eyes. It would always look back, as if it were making sure I was still following it. And I was. I followed it the entire way back, as if it knew I had gotten lost and was sent to bring me home. Then I had noticed that I was back to my street, I was able to see my house about 30 feet away.

A little girl on her own in a different neighborhood, it surely isn't the beginning to an happy ending.

After that? Never seen that exact cat ever again. But I do always see black cats. Whenever I'm alone, somewhere quiet, or just whenever I have nothing going on in my mind, it's right there. Staring right back at me.

Then it continues on with its way. Black cats aren't bad luck, they aren't a sign of a disaster, it's a sign of just, something. But nothing bad.

More like, something after. Something else.

The next step. That's what it is.

Tomorrow though? Back to school.

Again.

- L.C.

Dedicating this first ever "chapter" to the person that took the time to say something.

I know it wasn't much but just you wait, the next one will be where it all starts.