50 Things That Make A Fighter

o n e - mystery

Wake up.

Get ready.

Work out.

Go to class.

Get food.

Go home.

Go to the ring.

Fight.

Win.

Go home.

Sleep.

Repeat.

I had gotten my monotonous routine down to the minute and never expected anything more nor anything less. It wasn't as much a schedule as it was an ethic, a regimen. No surprises. No disappointment, no lo-

"No fun! No adventure! No hope! No love! No passion!" A dramatic monologue interrupted my own, and the deliverer received a glowering look. My best friend Emily continued to sulk on the bench beside me. I rolled my eyes and started to walk away as she scrambles to catch up.

"I mean really, all you do is fight! You never do anything different or exciting." She complains, trudging after me towards our apartment building. The sun was beginning to set, a deep orange glow casting over the hundreds of students on campus rushing home to their significant others, pets, or piles of homework for spring break.

"I mean seriously; you don't even have an active dating life." Emily persists, and I roll my eyes again. "One day you're eyeballs are gonna get stuck staring at your brain, and then maybe you'll finally see why you lack so much spontaneity," she mutters.

"Or maybe I'll find the reason I'm still friends with you. Funny, I can't seem to articulate it right now," I reply sarcastically, and she erupts into giggles, bouncing ahead into the apartment complex without a care in the world.

Our apartment was an enigma to anyone who stepped inside it, myself included. The living room was a mess of blankets, books, Twinkies wrappers, video games, nail polish, throw pillows and old 80's CD's. Beetles and Mean Girls posters were randomly taped to the off-white walls, and miscellaneous objects lined the window sills and kitchen counter tops. A large framed mirror leaning against the old ragged couch was the only thing in the room that still looked new and intact.

My reflection looked pathetic; my dark hair fell lifelessly past my shoulders, my clothes hung off my stiff and sore frame, not to mention the purple tint under my eyes that made me look tired and worn. And I was. Tired. From everything. But as my roommate so eloquently put it, I never did anything in my life to be tired of. Maybe that was my problem.

"Alrighty, who's ready to see some hot guys bash each other's heads in!" Emily's loud voice snaps me out of my stupor and I resist the urge to roll my eyes but let a small smile slip anyway. The blonde was clad in ripped shorts and a simple tank top but didn't fail to look stunning anyway. Her hair framed her face and her blinding smile distracted me from my lackluster appearance.

I want to laugh at how excited she sounds. Whenever I went to fight nights, she tagged along claiming her attendance provided "emotional support," but I still let her come knowing her real motives. The presence was comforting and boosted my confidence ever so slightly.

I take a few steps outside the doorway and let Emily follow behind. The apartment building wasn't the most glorious residency on campus, but it wasn't the worst either. The hallways had a certain musk that stuck to the tedious creme carpets that somehow made it feel homely, and the soft lights illuminated the pale yellow wallpaper.

The elevators across the hall begin to close and I speed up to catch the doors before they can. My hand flies out but a tall hooded figure bowls into me before I reach them. I stumble backward and catch the railing, a scowl forming on my face.