Stories Inspired by Music

Till I Collapse

Since day one, the blood and sweat dripping from my skin, eroded the road in front of me that I travel to this day. Lunge after lunge. Swift fists filled with power and energy. Each hit given and received has carved away at my heart and soul, shaping the passion I possess. This isn't fighting. This isn't just a sport or just boxing. This is a way of life. 

When I was young, my father and I was close at one time. Long ago, it was. My respect was never ending. My fear of him was also apparent. When I turned ten years old, he looked me in the eyes with an expression I have never seen before. New fear filled my being. He spoke. "You have grown so easy. The rest of your life is now a fight. If you want something, fight for it. Fight for respect. Fight for power. Fight." He said it to me in such a belittling way, like I was coddled, contrary to the home we resided in. I fought the ghetto as hard as I fought my father's grasp. When I was young, my respect for him was never ending. Now that I know, I fight to prove him wrong. 

Feet bouncing around the platform as if choreographed by professional dancers. Distracting the eyes from the knuckles pounding upon your skull. That moment I first fell to the ground with a slap of skin and bone, I knew I had to fight harder. The sweat and blood would not be for nothing. From the underground, to licensed boxing, I fought with the feeling like it would never happen again.

I was never bothered with the press, but when the question arose, I was blunt. "I fight because I was told to by the man who raised me. I aim to fight him." Cameras flash. Voices crowding my eardrums, but words are inaudible.

Under the roof of "home", I wasn't safe. Under the roof of a stadium, I felt sanction, though fighting was the lifestyle. Night after night. Training and bouts. Time passes. My skill, unmatched. I face him. My father. No. A man who beat me down, now watching me rise up to hit back. I look at the fear in his eyes, which matched my own when I was so young so long ago. He's not ready. I'm prepared to become victorious over the regional champion. I am prepared to give my body to the purpose. I'm ready to whoop this stranger's ass. 

Fists fly. A balled hand struck my jaw. I'm losing focus. I thrust my arm forward. His skin upon mine felt good. The sweat dripping from every orifice of my body is undetectable. I aim my sights onto him. My muscles tight. I feel weak. He seems to stand tall. I won't quit. Not until I drop to the floor dead, no beat, no pulse. Till I collapse, I will stare into the eyes of the man who now fears his rival. You made me, but as Frankenstein's monster had done, I will destroy you in every aspect possible. I am your monster, but you are THE MONSTER.

My heart pumps harder, my lungs filled with air, my hands clenched and raised to my brow. This is the attack. I fling every bit of force into him. He gives out to the first hit and tries to stand tall as he did before. I knock him back down. I beat him down like he did to me. The lights shine bright and make his crimson blood sparkle with new found perseverance. I see it and I hit him harder. Again. AGAIN. He hasn't thrown a punch in fourteen minutes. Nor will he be able to for the next thirty seconds. I finish him with one more blow to the cheek. It's done. I beat him.

The crowd cheers. The press surrounds me. I fall into darkness. My eyes give in and close. The people shocked, but I don't care. What's done is done. I descended to the ground knowing I completed what I was oh so after. The courage to meet him eye to eye and throw the first punch, sadly no landing it, but I still came out with blood on my knuckles. Over exertion is what did me in. I told you, "Till I collapse".

"That was a wonderful story, boy. I'm sorry it had to end in such a way."

"It's all I wanted in life."

"What about in death?"

"I want to be here. Telling my story to whomever bothers to ask."

"They're already telling your story elsewhere."

"It's not the same. It's my story, so well known, that they will never recreate it."

"So, is your story a legend?"

"No. For it is wrong, so it is a myth. They don't know...nor do they understand. Though I can't wait to tell it again."

"Trust me, you'll be doing it for a long time."

"How long do you think? Till I get tired?"

Jokingly he looks at the boxer. "Till you collapse."

The young man smiles, "No. Till I see him again."

"What will you do then?"

"Rewrite my story."

Song inspired: "Till I Collapse" by Eminem