A Fighters Welcome (short story)

It was a weird feeling. Men were shouting at me from every direction. I kept thinking... don't you smile. Don't you show emotion. I danced around the giant stop sign shaped matte. I reveled in executing the cliched shadow boxing movements I once saw Ali perform. It happened so quick. A man approached and talked in my ear. He mentioned something about a clean fight. Fuck that. I'm here to inflict pain.

A spiritual guide of sorts once gave me good advice. When you get on top of your victim and you are looking at your opponent straight in the eyes, take the palm of your glove and rub it across the top of his brow. It made no sense at the time but two minutes into my third fight after that talk... I was staring. I tried it a couple of times and my prey looked uncomfortable. The area I rubbed started to look red and swollen. Three minutes into that fight I popped him in that same spot. Immediately I was blinded. My opponents blood gushing into my retinas. I felt like I had been baptized in a sea of blood and the inner beast was still thirsty. At each thrust I kept working my knuckles into the bloody gape. I noticed skull before they sent in the cut man to fix him up. That match didn't last very much longer. I opened him up again and again until they had to call mercy. He cried after that match... I chuckled and thought to myself, I must have hurt his labia. I'm undefeated in 15 matches or should I say, I've dealt 15 brutal career eulogies.

My new prey stands there gazing at me just like they all did. I pace. He will know what the matte tastes like soon enough. My heart beats. It goes silent. A bell rings out. I move in quick for my first strike. I bring my left arm down, the intricate tribal tattoo swirling around the thick muscle. Bad move. I see his yellowed toenails coming towards my fa... I can feel it. It feels like someone unloaded a shotgun into my face. Are those my teethe rattling around in my mouth? It's dark and I can only imagine my face is peeled back and swollen like some smashed fruit. I thought a taste of sulfur. No. Iron is flowing down my throat and choking me. Am I dead? No. Worse. This is how it ends, some douche bag gets in a lucky kick to the head and I'm a punch away from being a vegetable. My career is done...

I have a scar to show you.

- Inspired by a UFC match I saw tonight.