The Mistake That Broke Me

Chapter Nine: His Domain

Both men are ripped with muscle and power. His opponent is just a little shorter in stature than he is, and now, both men stand tall as they face each other. Their broad shoulders move up and down with each intake of breath.

Their fists are clenched at their sides and the unknown man takes his fighting stance which is strong and sturdy. His opponent remains still, crouching a bit and supporting his weight with his dominate foot.

The men around them cheer them on, craving to see blood and violence.

The unknown man's opponent swings first, but he quickly ducks and lands a punch right into his gut. His opponent stumbles back, taken back by his quick reflexes.

 Under the moonlight they fought. The unknown man's punches were skilled and direct. It was almost as if it were a violent dance being performed by an equally as violent and dangerous predator. 

Blood was sprinkled onto the ground like little rain drops. Sweat dripped down both of the men's chest that heaved with exertion. Their hair was a mess and stuck to their foreheads from the sweat.

For a few moments, both men appear to be equally matched. Both were skilled with their techniques and punches. Both were quick, stealthy, and muscular. But as time passed, it became obvious which one of the men had more endurance. 

The unknown man's opponent began to tire. His eyes were becoming hazy and unfocused, and his blood dripped from his nose and ran down into the cracks of his lips. 

The unknown man used that as an advantage, and bringing his knee up, he rammed it right into his opponent's gut. The man collapsed and coughed because the wind was knocked out of him. The unknown man's eyes seemed to glaze over with the intent to kill when he saw that his opponent was writhing on the ground.

In a flash, the unknown man straddled his victim. He landed punches against the sides of his face, his head whipping to the side painfully. Popping sounds are heard as the man's victim's vertebrae cracks with each punch.

The unknown man's mind flashes with images. The man under him is no longer some random street fighter, but his main abuser and tormentor growing up. Suddenly the man under him is every single man and woman that abused and touched him growing up. Suddenly the man under him becomes the image of what he made humanity to be.

 Evil. Selfish. Greedy. Deceitful. Abusive. Perverted. Lustful. 

And suddenly, he finds himself killing the man that is none of those things. He is killing the man that just wants to survive too. He is killing the man that just wants to feed his little six year old daughter back at home.

Maybe the two men that are fighting aren't that different from each other. Both want to survive and both come from horrific pasts. But right now, the unknown man isn't aware of that. He just sees him as his abusers that fucked him up in the head and body. 

The man is soon pried off of his victim before he can cause further damage. He shouts obscenities and yells as it takes several men to pry him off and hold him back. It's almost as if he's a beast, his power knows no bounds.

But then the fog clears. His mind is opened when he looks around. The man coughing blood on the cold, dusty ground is not one of his abusers but merely a man living on the streets. 

He is paid fifty dollars for winning the fight. His shoulders move up and down with each labored breath he takes and, clenching his fists, he turns and walks away. He picks his shirt and jacket up off the ground and doesn't put it back on. Instead, he let's the cool night's air dry his sweat from his body.

He slinks back into the darkness, the velvety shadows hiding his wounds he has earned from the fight.

He tucks the cash safely away into his jean pocket and pulls his shirt back over his head. He then slides his leather jacket back on and rides off into the night on his motorcycle. The wind dries his sweaty wind swept hair and cools his body down.