Chapter 44 Fight Flight Or Die

"This is it. This is the end," Jake had what he speculated would be his final thoughts. Here, in a makeshift box, in the middle of a constructed warzone, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the pools of sweat pouring down his face, the smell of blood filling the second phase. Jake wanted to run, but his legs wouldn't move. He tried to beg, but no words came out. He tried to cry, yet no tear emerged. He was helpless, helpless and alone, as he looked upon the men who were about to kill him.

Time, for the young man, started moving slow, and as the world around him slowed to a crawl, the sounds of the world began to quiet down. He continued looking at both brothers, mesmerized with fear. Then he blinked, and they were gone. In a blink of an eye, it was all gone. The brothers, the other applicants, the exam itself, was gone.

Jake had fallen, fallen back into a memory that had long since passed. Here he was, eight years old, with his mother, as she was in the living room in their apartment, folding clothes. Jake remembered it was summertime, and the AC system in their home had gone out. He remembered he was burning up, even with all the windows open, and multiple fans were on. It felt as if he was melting, so he ran into the kitchen to get an ice cream sandwich. "A sugary, icy treat should do the trick," he thought.

And because of the situation, his mother didn't chastise him for eating dessert so early before dinner. As he got his treat, leaving the kitchen, he saw something that caught his eye, something he hadn't seen before. You see, the blistering heat had gotten to Jake's mother as well. She sat on the sofa, wearing a tank top, with her hair pulled up in a messy bun. But it wasn't her hair that caught young Jake's attention, even though it was a rare occurrence. It was what her naturally long blond hair was covering.

With her back to Jake, he saw something that was on her back. Like a curious child, Jake blurted out, "Hey, Mom, what's that?"

"What's what, sweetie?" she asked, never turning around, still folding the clothes.

"What's on your back?"

"My back?" She perked up. She reached a hand around, feeling her back, but she didn't feel anything.

"Boy, what are you saying?"

Jake chuckled, coming closer to his mother. He reached the hand that wasn't holding any ice cream out and touched the thing he saw on her back, now rubbing her skin. "This. What is it? Is it a tattoo or something?"

His mother was confused for only a second, then she knew what he was referring to. She had it for decades now that she had forgotten .

"Oh, you mean my scar."

"Your scar?" Jake asked.

"Yes, Mom has a scar."

With her back still facing Jake, his mother stood up from her seated position and lifted her tank top for only a moment. And for that moment, Jake saw three slashes across his mother's back. They looked like claw marks. But as quick as she lifted it, she just as quickly lowered it, sitting back down. When she did, she turned and looked at her son, his face full of awe.

"How did you get that?" Jack asked, interested.

In all of his at the time eight years, he never saw this scar on his mother. When he asked, his face was full of intrigue, but his mother's saddened a little.

She responded, "Mommy got this… A long, long time ago."

She thought saying just that would squash the question, but it didn't have the effect she wanted. This only intrigued the boy even more.

"How?" he said, chipper, gripping one hand on the couch as the other, holding his ice cream, started to melt. But his attention was captured, so the melting stickiness of ice cream or even the summer heat wasn't affecting him.

His mother looked at her son's excited face, and it bothered her. She knew she couldn't just leave the matter alone. Knowing her own son, he would continue to pester her until she caved. So, she told the story.

"A long time ago, when Mom was just a teenager, some friends and I were travel at night through the woods."

"You in the woods?" the boy asked, captivated by the story.

"Yes, we were traveling somewhere important and could only travel safely at night, so we did. As the three of us moved, we stumbled upon a wild bear."

"What, a bear?" the boy's shock at what he was hearing unintentionally screamed, interrupting the woman.

She smiled a soft smile at him, reaching out and rubbing his face.

"Yes, a bear, it was larger than anyone we had ever seen, and when it saw us, it went berserk. It attacked us, and we ran for our lives. I was older than those I traveled with, so I could run faster and further than the others. I kept running and running until I heard a scream. When I looked behind me, I saw my companions on the ground; they had tripped, and the bear was towering over them."

Jake's mother paused. Reminiscing about this past memory, her son had to be the one to ask her to continue. "Then what happened?"

When she came back to reality, she resumed, "In that moment, with my adrenaline running high, I had a choice to make, which was to fight or flee."

Jake cocked his head to the side, curious, because he never heard of this before. "You see, when a person is in a situation like me, when their blood is pumping fast and their energy is high, they have two decisions to make: to either fight or flee."

Jake, fully pulled in, asked, "Which did you choose, Mom?"

She paused for a moment, then she opened her mouth, looking her son right in the eye. "I chose to fight. With all I had, I ran back to my friends. As I did, I grabbed a thick stick off the ground, and when I was right up on the bear, I smacked it hard in the face with the stick."

Jake's eyes went wide. "The bear wasn't expecting me. It whelped in pain, but I didn't stop. I kept hitting it over and over and over again. I hit it so much that the beast backed off. When it did, I dropped the stick and dropped to pick up my friends to run. As I got them to their feet, the bear got his revenge by striking me across the back."

"Were you scared?" her son asked, a hint of worry on his face.

"Oh, I was very scared, but it didn't stop me. I picked my friend up, lifting both off the ground, then ran as fast as my legs could manage, far away from that wild beast."

The story was over, and Jake didn't know what to say at the end of her tale. Jake's mother turned around, continuing to fold laundry. After a while, Jake figured out a question to ask. "Why didn't you keep running when the bear had your friends?"

His mother, still folding, responded, "That's a good question. An understandable one. If I had kept running, then I never would have gotten hurt."

Her son nodded in agreement. "But if I did, I never would have forgiven myself."

Jake paused as his mother turned back to look at him. "Fighting and fleeing both have their ups and downs. If I would have run, then I would have lived, but my friends would die, and I would carry that guilt for the rest of my life. But when I decided to fight, the bear could have killed me and my friends, then all of us would have lost our lives."

Jake nodded again, then asked, "So, why did you do it? Why did you fight?"

She paused again, trying to find the right words to say. "Both fighting and fleeing are a slippery slope, so I chose the one that I could best live with." She reached her hand out, putting her hand on her son's cheek. "I hope not, but someday you too might need to make a decision like I did: to either fight or flee. And I hope you choose the one you can live with."

As Jake gazed at his mother, her hand on his cheek, he blinked, and she was gone. Jake was thrust back to reality, now seeing the two brothers towering over him as the moon brother raised his axe high. Jake's thoughts were racing, thinking about the memory he had long forgot. "Fight or flee, fight or flee, fight or flee, fight or die, fight or die, fight or die. If I don't fight, I'm gonna die."

As the moon brother brought his axe down, Jake grabbed his katana with both hands, one holding the sword's hilt, the other holding the base of the sheathe. Then he lifted it upwards, blocking the killing strike. With a face full of sweat and tears, Jake said, "I choose to fight."