I'm fighting two adversaries now. There are only two rounds remaining and I'm wall behind on the scorecards. I have to knockout the Angel to win this fight and I only have two rounds left to do it. To my right is The Angel of Death, send from up above or from down below or from somewhere in-between with a fatal mandate. To my left is Father Time, an agent with the same fatal mandate, just a different method of delivery. I sneer in disgust. I'm not much for fathers.
The bell sounds. Signaling the start of the penultimate Round 11. For the eleventh time tonight I look my enemy, the Angel, in the eyes and go right after him. I can't help but notice; the perfect, enormous pectorals of the Angel as I approach him. Like two marble tiles. Like two tectonic plates. I channel the fiery magma within into my right hand. I step all the way into the blow. I aim right for the valley in the middle of the two slabs, "The Great Pectoral Fault." The blow lands in its total, magmanimous entirety. I feel the soul of the Angel leave his body, if only for a second, knocked back forcibly by the brute strength of the right cross to his chest. I hear the Angel's beating heart shoot backwards, inside his torso. I hear it hit the back of his ribcage, caroming off his vertebrae before returning to its home inside his chest. I see wind, leaving the Angel's body, whistling around the edges of his mouthpiece. The Angel's head dips slightly as his body absorbs the fullness of the blow. Instinctively I strike again. A powerful left uppercut, fully predatizing the Angel's lowered, exposed head. The blow lands directly on his square chin; the force of the impact provides enough force to drive his chin through his face and out the backside of his skull. Instead, the Angel absorbs the strike. Like a great building mid-demolition, the Angel implodes, collapsing into himself. His Angelic face hits the canvas floor below.
A great gasp makes its way through the crowd. A fleeting moment of shocked silence. My trainer is the first to erupt "Fuck yeah!" He throws a celebratory left uppercut into the air, mimicking the knockdown blow. Both of my arms shoot out in front of me, rigid in responsive jubilation. I kick repeatedly towards the Angel's face on the canvas. Covering him in imaginary sand as if we were two Roman gladiators fighting for our lives in the Coliseum. If we really were gladiators, this is the moment I would jump on his back, drive a dagger into his beating hear, and end this thing. The daydream is short-lived. I feel the white fabric arm of the Penguin Referee. He is moving me out of the way, giving the fallen Angel his due space. I glare at the Penguin Referee. Start counting bitch. "One!" No sign of life from The Angel of Death. "Two!" I notice a wild excitement flowing through the crowd. They were on his side all night. Now he lies motionless on the canvas and they cheer with glee. No loyalty amongst this bloodthirsty bunch. "Three!" Count fast penguin. The Angel begins to stir. I look for the Woman in the Red Dress. Surely she is enthralled by this turn of events. She is holding another ornament cigarette, smoke billowing and curling all around her. There is a distance in those wild green-blue eyes. She's not enthralled. She doesn't belong here. "Four!" The Angel begins his ascension. Fuck me. Already. Don't you know how to count? Count faster penguin. "Five!" Fuck me. The Angel is all the way up. He stares right past the penguin and right into my soul. I recognize the look. I've been wearing that same determined expression all night. He's not toying with me anymore.
The penguin puts us back together, and I continue my dance with the devil underneath the bright lights. I use the Angel's aggression against him, expertly dodging his blows. I land counters of my own. Eroding his confidence. Eroding his lead. Eroding his health. One punch at a time. With less than a minute left I lean back to avoid his jab, then step forward to deliver a combination of my own. Right jab. Right jab. Left body shot. They all land. The Angel's head moves slightly to the right. But so do I. I step right, lean right, and deliver a mighty right hook. I hit him so hard on the side of his cranium I imagine his skull bending inward from the impact, squeezing his eyeball out of its socket. His head drops like an anchor. The Angel goes down with the ship. Another knockdown. I don't react this time. I just stare at his crumpled body. I'm too focused to celebrate. My work is not done. He'll get up. I know he will. It doesn't matter. I have the upper hand now. I'll put him into the fucking ground again and again and again until this is over. The penguin referee clears him after counting all the way to eight. The crowd is all on their feet now. Everybody loves a good comeback story. The penguin puts us back together, but just before the fighting resumes the bell rings. Round over. Mercy for The Angel of Death.
I see the dark clouds in his eyes. I see the self-doubt setting in. I see defeat. I strut back to my corner, laughing all the way, a real bloody maniac. The Joker. Everyone will know the name soon. The comeback is nearly complete. One more intermission. One more round.
