Raging Minotaur (Part 7 of 7)

30 hours to round one

 

>Despite how terrified you are of what’s to unfold tomorrow, your life continues at the same pace

>Wake up, train with Dash, work, train again, sleep. It hasn’t changed much

>At work, you push your cartful of apples to it’s destination, unable to shake tomorrow’s event from your mind

>You cough heavily while contemplating. So many questions and so few answers in sight

>“What happens if I get hurt? Will I be able to continue to work? What will I do if I cant? How will I provide for myself?”

>“Will it be humiliating? Will Dash leave me if I fail miserably?”

>All in all, the thought of winning is the least prevalent thing on your mind

>So much anxiety, so many worries. You just want an escape from it.

>Feeling overcome by a sudden weakness, you stop working and sit down.

>As your worries continue to race through your head, you cover your mouth with your hand to mask what you can feel in your lungs is going to be an extremely heavy cough

>you can feel your diaphragm cramping as you cough heavily. So heavily that you cover your mouth with both hands to mask the sound

>You manage to go about your coughing without drawing any attention to yourself. Thankfully no one is nearby to witness you sitting down on the job.

>The cough continues. You feel a lightheadedness overtaking you as it comes down to a slower, ongoing pace

>As you pull your hand away from your mouth, you see something unsettling in your palm

>Focusing between the lightheadedness and spasms in your diaphragm is difficult, but you can make out blood in your palm

>Yet You’re not as startled nor as worried as you should be. You wanted a release from your anxieties and the lightheadedness has thus delivered you from it

>You begin to black out, Coughing softer and as you make your way to the ground.

>As you lay on your ribs, the last thing you see is your mucus stained palm before losing consciousness

 

Round 7

 

>Once again, you sit in your stool as you wait for the next round. Dash continues to clean the cut on your face while you begin to plan ahead for the following round

>But as you come down further and further from your state of blind rage, you feel a great lethargy sinking in.

>Its not from taking punishment. Its not even a physical tiredness from the fight. Its more a mental feebleness, A slowing of your overall thought process, a dullness in perception. No doubt a consequence of your inhumane state of aggression.

>You feel estranged from your person. The environment around you feels so vague and colorless, even though this is arguably the most grand night of your life.

>And try as you might, you genuinely cannot come up with any strategy for the ensuing round. Priorities, planning and all decisiveness have fallen apart like house of cards.

>With only 15 seconds to the next round, you turn to your trainer hoping she can shed some light on your situation

Dash, What do I do?

>She doesn’t respond, she just holds a soft smile at you as she continues to clean the cut above your eye

>You reiterate yourself, thinking maybe she didn’t hear you over the roar of the crowd

This round. What do I do this round? What do I need to do to win?

>She simply continues to clean and hold her smile. After a few more seconds of remaining unresponsive she finally breaks her smile to give you a reply

>“You need to do nothing more, Anon”

>With that she takes the gauze of the side of your head and returns idle with only five seconds of break time left

>You have absolutely no idea what she meant in your fatigue, though even a more sober mind might find that reply cryptic

>The bell rings and the round begins

>With no plan of action, you rise from your stool and go with the always popular strategy of improvising, Hoping your enfeeblement will pass by the time you’re firm on your soles

>You have no such luck tonight, the minute you stand up you feel light in the head,  unbalanced and your condition only worsens

>Your skin feels cold and clammy, Your eyes feel like they‘re about to pop out of their sockets, your teeth are chattering, and your spine is numb.

>Yet you’re going into the round regardless of your impairments. Same as it’s six predecessors

>With all the zeal of a geriatric, you limp your way to the center of the ring exchange blows the equally debilitated Will.

>With no game plan in mind and your reflexes reduced to nothing, Will opens up with the gratuitous Jab-Jab-Hook combo

>His jabs strike your ribs with all the impact of a wet noodle, and his hook beans you in your shoulder; Not a particularly weak spot

>Well after his punches have been landed, you finally react;

>Pressing your knuckles into his chest, you try to Push him back though in your weariness you push yourself back in the process

>You stumble backwards clumsily while Will can’t help but to do the same thing in his ineptitude

>While its difficult to be conclusive in your state of dullness, you can certainly conclude that this is going nowhere.

>You stagger in towards Will to try and grab onto him.

>Wrapping one arm around his back, you manage to get somewhat of a hold on him. >Nothing unbreakable but enough for you to shoot a couple of half-assed punch into his ribs

>You try to throw more but the referee cuts in, throwing the two of you apart before backing away

>With no regards to the whims of the ref, you clinch Will a second time and resume throwing more punches into his ribs.

>The ref cuts in and separates the both of you once more. Only this time he brings a warning after the both of you are split

>“Anon! You clinch again and I’m penalizing you! Got it?”

>You nod and with that in mind, ready yourself to see the end of the match

>You stare Will down across the short distance standing between you and him, no doubt he has the same thing going through his mind.

>Expending the very last of your strengths, the both of you limp in with your punches already in motion, closing the distance with the intention to finish it.

>Its anybody’s win now, The both of you have been reduced to nothing but determination.

>Not one of you has any more power, speed or endurance left over the other

>However, Will does have one last advantage over you…

>…Him being the taller contender, he does have a longer reach than you…

>…Thus, his punch strikes you before your punch can strike him…

>…A straight punch, it lands to the left of your chin

>Its not a particularly remarkable blow, but its enough to drop you to the mat.

>You fall down like a sack of potatoes, landing on your back

>That wonderful feeling of disorientation overtakes you.

>The silence is deafening

>Your limbs feel like pudding

>Your sense of touch has been suspended

>Your sense of urgency has been suspended as well.

>You see the rambunctious crowd cheering, but you make nothing of it.

>You see the referee standing above you counting you out, but it registers nothing urgent. >For now, nothing matters at all.

>As the disorientation ends, your hearing returning just in time to hear the last numbers of the referee’s count

>“…Seven…Eight…”

>The urgency returns but only too late

>“…Nine…Ten…Your out!”

>The referee waves, signaling that you’ve been KO’d. The crowd explodes and the exhausted Will collapses over, holding himself up via the ropes

>Its over. The bout is finished and you’ve lost.

>As Will’s team swarms in to congratulate him on his win, you look around for Dash but can’t seem to find her

>The ringside grows crowded with commentators and journalists flooding in to interview the winner

>And with that you feel there’s simply nothing more to do here. Still laying on your back, you roll over and slip out from under the ropes.

>You land with your feet on the floor and let out a depressed sigh before slinking away into the crowd in shame, ready to head for your locker and call it a night

 

Training: 24 hours to round one

>As you come back to consciousness, you feel the rough padding of a cot underneath you

>Your vision slowly returns and you see yourself in a brightly lit room with a doctor standing over you

>“Welcome back” he says

>With the coughing gone and you able to breath clearly, you sit up to speak to him

Where am I? What happened?

>The doctor gives a soft chuckle

>“You’re at the hospital buddy, where else could you be? Your boss took you here after you passed out on the job”

>You could have deduced all that yourself but you continue questioning nonetheless

Why did I pass out?

>“Allergies. Your lungs seem to have developed an intolerance to apple pollen over the past few months”

>That explains why you’ve been coughing so hard at work all this time, still…

Pollen? But its not even spring. The flowers aren’t even in bloom.

>The doctor gives another dry chuckle

>“And you should be thankful for that, otherwise you might not have made it here in time”

>With that in mind, you know what will become of your job.

>But more important than your job, what does your illness spell for tomorrow night?

Doc, I have a…

>As usual, you mince your words carefully as not to announce what you do in your spare time

…sporting event planned for tomorrow night, Will I still be able to do it?

>“You’ll be fine by morning, just stay off the orchard”

>The doctor makes his way out as you sigh in relief.  You may have lost your job but there still hope for a living elsewhere; You still have a shot at winning tomorrow night’s match (or you think you do at this moment in time).

>The instant the doctor parts, you look over to the side and see Applejack in the corner of the room.

>Just now realizing she’s been present the whole time, you ready yourself to give her your resignation

I’m sorry Jack, Looks like its time for me to move on from sweet apple acres. You think you’ll be able to finish the season without me?

>Jack nods dispassionately. You’re not sure if she’s trying to suppress emotions or if she is genuinely not concerned

>“We’ll make it. Never you mind. You just worry ‘bout gettin’ better”

Thank you Jack. You’ve always been a good friend.

>she steps to the side of the bed and hugs you goodbye

>“Happy trails, Anon”

>Without another word, she leaves just as hastily as the doctor. No doubt needing to double her efforts to meet the season’s end quota

>With your job and your health no longer a worry, that leaves just one loose end; Dash

>Before you can even begin to contemplate on how to explain the situation to her, she conveniently drops in to your hospital room and approaches the side of your bed

>“I heard about your job. I’m sorry”

>Apart from income related concerns, you’re really not all that heart broken

Its alright Dash. Pushing a cart around all day wasn’t really my thing. Let’s just hope all this training pays off otherwise I’m not gonna be able to feed and clothe myself for a bit

>Dash just smiles and leans in close. She has none of your concerns. She only has faith that you’ll prevail tomorrow night

>“I got a feeling about you. You’re gonna be great…”

 

Post match

 

>“You’re gonna be great…”

>Dash’s words haunt you as you return to your locker. Knowing you failed to meet her expectations burdens you worse than any blow suffered in the ring tonight

>As you open it up, you contemplate your uncertain future. What fates await you outside the arena?

>You pull off your gloves and watch as the river of sweat follows your hands’ departures before pulling off the soggy wrist wraps

>Dressing out of your shorts and back into your street clothes, you immediately begin crunching a budget.

>Losing this bout got you a decent purse, it might be enough to sustain you for a month or two

>You’ll need to find another fight or another job before it runs out though, preferably the former

>You approach the Mirror and inspect yourself. Apart from that cut above your right eye and some bruising on your chin, you’re relatively unscarred. Tonight wasn’t a total failure

>Still though, losing is losing.

>You did your best but looking back, it seems loss was inevitable. After all, Skill will always beat luck

>You leave the locker room and head for the exit, ready to leave the arena for tonight but hopefully not once and for all

>You carry your gloves over your shoulder as you walk toward the door. More questions run through your mind;

>“Will I have to look for another job or can I find another Fight?”

>“and if I do find a fight, who will it be against?”

>“And what of Dash?”

>“Will she still be by my side even though I lost? Is this just a setback or is it the killing blow for our relationship?”

>So many questions and so few answers

>While you don’t have any clarity now, you press into the exit door and swing it open hoping that you’ll find answers somewhere on the other side of it

>And oddly enough…

>…the answers are closer than you think

>The instant you cross the threshold, you’re greeted by a cheering crowd

>They swarm in close to you, with Dash spearheading the way

>“Anon!”

>She lunges for you, hugs you tightly and gives you a bit wet smooch on the lips

>“That was amazing!”

>This is an unexpected turn of events. You’re a bit confused

Amazing?

>“The fight!”

>You still can’t make any sense of it.

But, Dash. I lost

>She shrugs your loss off, genuinely unconcerned as she impressed by your sheer fortitude

>“So what!? You went SEVEN rounds with Iron Will!”

>She tightens her embrace on you, holding you in a way she hasn’t in years

>“I’m so proud of you, Anon!”

>Through that you find your clarity. You lost the fight, but you have your estranged lover back. Not just back but the two of you have been cemented together thanks to the events of tonight

>And on top of that…

>…You’ve attained success elsewhere

>A crowd of journalists, fans, managers and promoters close in around you, equally swoon by your showmanship

>amongst the chatter you can make out questions coming from various voices

>“Anon, That was the most amazing professional debut I’ve ever seen. How do you feel?”

>“Do you have anything to say to Will?”

>“How’d you like to do ten two-minutes rounds with my diamond dog fighter in eight weeks?”

>“How’d you like to do an interview for the Black Eye Times?”

>Dash holds you tight with one foreleg and stretches her opposite out to ward of the swarm

>Dash: “Hey! I’m his manager! Talk to me if you want to schedule something!”

>With that, your future has been laid down in front of you

>A future free from worries of estrangement, boring jobs or success-related anxieties

>The only thing you need do now is simply accept it

>And that’s exactly what you do

>You throw a tired arm over Dash and hug her back

You heard my manager. She’s in Charge.

 

>The end