His Little Fighter

'Too many people spend money they earned..to buy things they don't want..to impress people that they don't like.'                                 ~Will Rogers I make my way towards the boxing ring feeling myself revel the sounds of cheers of excitement and the chanting of my stage name. "Shadow. Shadow. Shadow." I looked down at my opponent for the last time, relishing in the look of defeat in his now dull green eyes before walking towards the referee to collect my money. That's right, I'm a boxer, an illegal boxer to be more specific. It's what kept me alive after all these years after the death of my father and who knows, maybe it temporarily kept me away from an afterlife in Hell.  I never knew my mother, she died after giving birth to me; my father, on the other hand, died from an overdose of drugs. He used drugs as a coping mechanism for 18 years after my mother died which only led him to get involved with some pretty shady people and ever since then, I made it my goal to learn self-defence.  "You never fail to impress me," Rick, the referee said as I quickly stashed my prize money into my hoodie. "Of course, you know how much I've improved over the years" I replied with a genuine smile.  Rick has been like a second father to me, he found me sobbing helplessly in an alleyway the day my father died and since then, he helped me get back on my feet and introduced me to the hidden world of illegal boxing. Without him, I wouldn't be standing where I am now and I fear that I would perhaps have travelled down the same road as my dad did. "Same time tomorrow?" Asked Rick. "I'll see you then," I replied with a stiff nod as I fixed the hood of my hoodie and strutted out the door. Every time I leave The Underground, I am careful to make sure that no one has followed me. To be extra safe, I park my car at least ten minutes of walking distance away. I take a quick look behind me pulling down the hood that covered my eyes and jumping into my Bugatti that I left in the less, how should I say it? Sketchy part of town. I let out a relaxed sigh as I drove myself to the first place that I fell in love with. My home. A while later, I see my driveway in the distance so I slow down and park my car into the garage. I hop out and make my way to the front door. Not really paying attention, I open the door and make my way towards my bedroom but before I could take another step, I hear a deep voice whisper in my ears. "Did you get the money?"  "What the hell!" I yelled at my best friend, Indigo, whilst pressing my right hand firmly against my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. "Woah what's wrong with you?" Indigo chuckled. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!" I yelled, trying to regain my composure. "Weren't you paying attention?" "No..." I paused, trying to think of an excuse, "my eyes glazed over." "Your eyes glazed over?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow, "What? Were you f*****g dying or something?" I glared at him, staying silent. "Anyways, did you win? Did you get the money?" He chirped up with twinkling blue eyes. I rolled my eyes, "Yes I did get the money," I said reaching a hand into my pockets before slamming the money onto the coffee table. Before I knew it, I was engulfed into a rock hard chest. "I knew you could do it!" He exclaimed, pressing me harder against his chest at the same time, cutting off my ability to breathe. I pushed him off of me and took a deep breathe, "You know, before that hug I never realised how much I actually treasured my lungs." "Aww come on, don't be like that Amy," Indigo stated with a look of fake pain etched across his face. "It's late and I'm exhausted" I declared and headed to my room. "Wow goodnight to you too then! I'll see you tomorrow at The Underground for your fight!" Indigo yelled after me. "Ok, goodnight!" I yelled back. Early Next Morning *BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!* I groaned and lunged at my alarm to turn it off. Instead of calmly turning it off as any normal person would do, I smacked the life out of it and watched it fall to the ground. I slowly got out of bed and went to go inspect my alarm clock. I picked it up and saw that it was completely fine.  It doesn't deserve to live after the years of pain it inflicted on me. I thought bitterly. Placing my alarm clock back, I stood in front of my mirror. My once bouncy curls were now frizzy, the corners of my mouth have dried saliva on it and my eyes are still half closed. I am NOT a morning person. I spent the next hour completing my morning routine before changing into my workout clothes and heading downstairs to the gym. There, everything is neatly set up but I decided to start with the punching bag as a warm-up. I stretch my body and begin. Every punch I send to the punching bag, small flashbacks of my father flashed before my eyes. He may have been addicted to drugs, but he did know the streets. He was a dangerous man, my father did everything from stealing to killing to keep us both alive; even though we never really had danger targeted at us, he made sure that my wishes were fulfilled which meant that he taught me self defence because it made him feel reassured knowing that I could protect myself when I was alone. Punch, punch, kick, move. Never let your guard down. Said, my father. Punch, punch, kick, move. Keep moving. In a real fight, you'll never stay in one place. You will need to dodge. Punch, punch, kick, move. Never wait for your opponent to strike back. You'll be giving them an advantage. Punch, punch, kick, move. And most importantly, never trust anybody. On the streets, it's every man for themselves. They'll leave you at the first chance they get. ~~~