Slopes to death

"Who said anything about killing?" the tattooed man chuckled. "You think San will show you that kind of mercy? He is a good man but that is just asking for too much. You will fight again, even if you have to do so with one arm."

"I will not," Cobly muffled out, spitting out blood."

The tattooed man casually walked up to Cobly and slapped him across the face. The imprints of his rings drawn against an already bloody face.

"Don't say that again," he warned.

"Why?" Cobly croaked, his voice broken. "I will continue to live like this. How can one continue to live like this? Everyday what runs through my head, is my next fight, my next training, how I should inflict pain on another human being or how I will come back all bloodied. I sleep to a better future and wake up to my existence. I am tired of that. I am."

"That's part of the job," the tattooed man bellowed. "That's what you signed up for. You can't go complaining when you knew, when this has been your life. Is like complaining about eating pasta always when that's what your family's ancestry was built upon."

Cobly opened his mouth and immediately clamped a hand over his stomach to stop the bile riding the morning train up. A moment passed. He turned and retched out his guts onto the streets. When he was done, so was his strength. He felt like he was astronaut up in space. He weighed nothing and could do nothing again. The ground never looked more pleasing. But he still stood, there was much to do before he ended up dead.

"So what now?" Cobly asked.

An accepting sound floated out from the tattooed man throat. He placed his hands on Cobly shoulders and shook it affectionately like a father does his son to juggle his memory.

"We go back to San's. He will be pleased to see you. And maybe, I know it's possible, you can just dig yourself out of this hole."

"I don't think I can move."

The tattooed man gave an honest smile and pointed his inked hand backwards. "That's what the boys are here for," he reasoned out. "You can ride on any of their backs or they could join together like a cart or whatever and carry you. Whatever man. Because San will be happy, so will they."

Cobly pulled his cut-up battered lips in a weak smile, nodding in disapproval. "I think you misheard me. You didn't listen to any of my mumblings. I can't go back there. It either end here or nowhere."

The two set their jaws and stared at each other.

The tattooed man was the first to break the silence. His open palm landed on Cobly's cheek. It resonated and the other men winced. Slapped him again. And again. Each one harder than the last, until it felt like he was slapping a mushed up wet clay. Bloodied and wet with tears.

"Why all the big talk man? When to San, your life is like a thread. Whenever he wants, he can grab a pair of scissors and cut. Cut you down. Isn't that funny, a thread? So, when you are still useful, why do you make the most of it?"

Cobly's body waved about like a flag set out in the open air. He swung and hit air. Staggered and swung again.

Some of the men looked at him with sympathy.

"Come on," Cobly mumbled. "While I've got strength, I will finish you. Come on."

"See how one of our fiercest in the ring turns out to be. All the shouts and screams in that glorious ring and it turned out you are just rags and bone. Just like any ordinary man. Rags and bones with lots of blood to wet the ground."

"I'm tired of hearing your voice," Cobly mumbled his words. Running after him and swinging, the tattooed man sidestepped easily. Shaking his golden brown hair in disgust, he delivered to Cobly another slap that flew like a wisp and landed like Thor's hammer.

"You are not the man I thought you will me," the tattooed man said. "On second thought, I don't think San will be happy to be seen with garbage."

Pulled a white handkerchief from his pockets and meticulously wiped his hands with it. Turning, he threw the bloody handkerchief up in the air and his teeth glinted in a sad smile. The handkerchief flew up in the air and as gravity pulled it down, the men rushed Cobly.

Cobly shielded his face. It didn't matter though. They were like hyenas. His ribs shook on impact. The back of his head exploded and he felt like his hair has been scraped off. Punches came from different angles and was applied at different places on his body. How long has it been?

The scraping of wood against dusty grounds permeated the night and as if on cue, the beating stopped.

Cobly staggered around helplessly. His body awash with pain but still standing. He was a strong man alright. He tried to make do of what was happening. What are they doing? Have they left. We're they resting? These questions crossed through his mind. What the hell was that sound?

And his thoughts-filled mind exploded into nothing. His legs folding up as a plank long and thicker than a police baton smashed into the back of his head. There was an interval of silence. Black and white silence. It stretched before his eyes through the wide long street, through to the ring as he weaved through blows like a flowing stream and landed good hits to knock down opponents and raised his hands to trumiphant cheers. Through the alley that led to his one room apartment. Through to waking up in the morning after dreaming of a brighter future. As it stretched, his brain folded up and the dust rose mixing with the night air, as he dropped to the ground.