"I’m an idiot!" I shout frantically, pacing around the room.
We were thrown into a small room with one single locked door. The old signs on the wall tell me it’s the bathroom of the old ‘Freshmart Grocery Store’. An old off brand grocery store (Think Aldi’s, but with less stuff). Stevie still remains unconscious, his body spread across the floor like a weirdly cooked pancake.
My mind has begun bouncing off the walls. All my issues begin flooding my brain. I can feel a headache coming on.
Why did you come back? You thought you could escape them, didn't you? You thought you could get away from the mental turmoil, and stress. Clearly you weren’t cut out for school life, and you obviously aren’t cut out to return home.
I curl up into a ball and lean against the tile wall. My anxiety has kicked into high gear, and tears quickly begin flowing down my cheeks. I’m used to stressing out, but not like this. I feel everything around me going numb, and all that I can hear is the cold, brutal honesty of my mind.
It seems you’ve doomed yourself haven’t you “Blake?”. You are going to go out there, and you are going to die, probably in some sick and twisted way. Well, “Blake?!” at least you’ll die here at home. Maybe they’ll bury your remains-...
“Blake!”
I look up to see Stevie now standing over me.
“Stevie, you’re awake?!” I ask.
“Never mind that, what has gotten into you?”
“Huh?” I ask, but he continues, ignoring me. “I mean has the great Blake Autumn really stooped so low to crying in a corner?”
Stevie pulls me up and goes on talking. As he does this, he begins wrapping my hands with something.
“Blake, you were literally the most popular kid back in high school! Okay no you weren’t, but you had a good head on your shoulders! I always saw you walkin’ around with an air of confidence, and you were always generally cool to be around. Women wanted you, and men wanted to be you! Okay no that didn’t happen either, but Blake you were so nice back then, like remember that time we were racing Donnie Johnson in the school parkin’ lot, and I got slammed with a case a chronic diarrhea from the Mexican food we’d had earlier that night, and you had to rush me home?! Meanwhile Donnie had gotten so mad at us, and tried to pick a fight with me, so you kicked that man right in the balls and we ran! All so you could get me home to my bathroom! Man, my poor toilet had to suffer the wrath of God that night, how cool was that?! Okay no I’m ramblin’, but Blake you’re capable of doing so much, and I think you’re just freakin’ out for no reason! I aint too sure what your wizard friend is plannin', but I read the flyer, and it said somethin’ about you fightin’ someone? I don’t know what pickle you’ve gone and gotten yourself into Blake, but I suggest you get your big boy britches on, otherwise you’re screwed!”
He finishes wrapping my hands. I look down. Pretty sure Stevie had used every roll of toilet paper in this bathroom. My wrists are encased in a tight (as tight as toilet paper can get) bundle all the way up to my fingers. I look around, in a moment of clarity. While Stevie’s words were partially muddled, his story of racing home to his bathroom was all too familiar. I remember it like it was yesterday. A much simpler time.
I glance up at Stevie, and he says something I haven’t heard in a very long time.
“No balls, Blake.”
My eyes go wide. At that moment, something snaps in me. We'd always used that phrase to motivate us to do something we might’ve been scared to do. Back then it always filled me with a naive determination, and I feel it returning in this moment.
I look down, placing my hands on my hips.
“I guess I can't say no to that can I?” I mumble, sighing.
Stevie violently hugs me excitedly saying, “Let’s get it!”
Suddenly the door unlocks and is opened by a Cloak. Me and Stevie turn towards him. He’s maybe 5’5” Not awfully tall, but short enough you’ve got to look down to see him. He’s masked, with a small strand of orange on his hat.
“We’re ready for you Blake.” the Cloak member says in a cold whisper. He throws me a Cloak and hat. It lands in my hands.
“Official Cloak rules say you’ve gotta wear the uniform during the competition.”
He then throws it at me, letting the cloak and hat fall to my feet.
“Not happening.” I say in defiance.
The Cloak leans on the door, “Take it up with you-know-who then.”
I don’t reply, only giving Stevie a look. He shrugs his shoulders. I groan in annoyance as I reach down and pick up the cloak and hat.
Sliding it on, it feels warm. It feels like I’ve put a cozy fuzzy sweater on, or the feeling you get when you take a bite of one of grandma’s home cooked desserts. A gentle, calming scent overtakes the former rancid smell I’d come to associate with the Cloaks.
It’s kind of comforting.
Despite the feeling though, I still feel like an idiot in a goofy costume.
Me and Stevie walk out of the bathroom into a sort of backstage area. The shelves of the former grocery store have been stacked on top of each other, creating a rickety wall. The wall rattles, shaking from the deafening sounds of a buzzing crowd, blaring music, and a vaguely familiar announcer.
The faint multi-colored stage lights dance around the walls, and pierce through the holes in the metal shelves as we are guided through a bustling backroom. Cloaks run past us, scrambling to fix this and do that. As we turn a corner, my heart almost sinks.
It’s hard to get a good look because of the flashing lights, but I see what looks to be a narrow path of plastic barriers leading to a structure. There are so many rowdy patrons crowded against the pathway, it’s hard to make out what’s what. Amid the crowd going wild, I start to make out the smooth voice of the announcer.
“Alright ladies and gentlemen, my name is Benny, and I-... You know what I’ve already done this, can we just get Blake out here?”
I recognize Benny’s voice. He ran my college’s radio show along with his adopted brother Bin.
The beat of the grungy rock song drops, as the bright lights turn to my face. I wince as they almost blind me. Most of the crowd begins booing. I feel my stomach begin to churn but begin walking down the path.
There’s Cloaks on both sides of me. The Cloaks jump up and down, some of them throwing fireballs around.
Most of the Cloaks jeer at me, cursing my name. Vitriol spews with every glare and hate spills with every middle finger in my face. Every shout is filled with some profanity cursing me. There’s suddenly a sharp slap on the side of my head. A Cloak had thrown an empty plastic cup at me. Others follow in his lead, with more trash being thrown our way. I throw my hand in front of my face, blocking it from being hit. Despite being home, I still feel as if I’m deep behind enemy lines.
The closer ones shake the flimsy metal barrier separating us. They reach out, shoving me. One nearly knocks me off my feet. I throw one a dirty look, and the crowd around me begins booing right in my face.
Suddenly, Stevie steps in front of me now dawning a security hat and jacket.
“Alright people stay back, c’mon we got a fighter coming through keep your distance!” he shouts, acting tough.
Despite the crippling fear coursing through me, Stevie’s antics manage to keep my spirits up, if only for a second. We make our way through the line, to the cage.
The cage I’m set to fight in looks like a weird lovechild of a steel cage, and an MMA Octagon. It’s an asymmetrical metal arena, more resembling a jagged oval than a square or octagon. The tall metal fences of the structure look like they came from what used to be the garden center of the store.
As I go to enter the structure, another Cloak approaches me. I nearly choke as they force feed me a mouth guard, before rubbing something on my face. I’ve watched enough fights to know that they’re rubbing vaseline on my face, which helps with preventing cuts. It oils up the face, letting punches slide right off.
The Cloak then opens the caged door and shoves me inside. I run up what I'm pretty sure was a step stool for children, and shiver as the cage rattles from being slammed shut. The lights above illuminate the floor below. It’s less of a mat for fighting, and more of spare metal shelves that the Cloaks merely tipped over, with the flat side up. There’s little to no give to the floor.
Looking around I see patrons piling up against the cage, all of them going wild with excitement. Some grab and shake the flimsy cage wall around us. Whatever happens, they are going to enjoy it either way. I feel my dread return however, as I see Mitch.
He peers down at me from the top of a shelf set next to the chain link fence surrounding the octagon. A pseudo-platform for him and his minion from the Snack Falcon.
I feel my gut spinning around like a washing machine. The candy bar from earlier is starting to make me feel sick. Mitch looks down at me, his face lights up with a sadistic joy.
“Ah, Blake, you made it! Glad you could be here for this round of our wonderful contest!” he shouts, barely overtaking the sound of the crowd below him. I remove my bulky mouthpiece, throwing my hands up at him in annoyance.
“Not like I had a choice here Mitch!”
Mitch gives me a disappointed pouting face.
Benny the announcer then comes over the intercom again.
“Alright folks, we ready for a fight huh?”
The rowdy crowd pops, all cheering. Their hands are thrown in the air, with ecstatic gleeful looks strewn across the sea of faces.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, tonight’s bout holds no bounds. No rules. No DQ’s. An infinite loop of three-minute rounds that could go on and on and on. Two men enter the grocery store arena. One man will leave.
The Cloaks bring you… ‘In partnership with 104.7 BITN’...
“Your Grocery Store Cage Death Match!”
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
My heart drops as the crowd goes ballistic. I look back at Stevie, who’s stood behind the barrier. He gives me an intense nod.
“Now to introduce our combatant Blake here will be competing against.”
The crowd can only simmer for a moment before a loud blare of an overly aggressive rock song blast the speakers of the makeshift venue. The crowd goes berserk, throwing their hands as they jump for joy.
I watch as the spotlight swings towards the entrance way where I’d previously walked through.
As Benny goes on about my opponent, I see him. He’s got the standard Cloak getup (scarf for a mask, cloak, witch hat, etc), but is also sporting slight accents of purple across his Cloaks. His head remains pointed to the floor as he begins his approach towards the cage.
The Cloaks at the barriers of the entrance way grow giddy with excitement. They pat him on the back and shake him in an effort to pump their ally up. Despite the cheering and rallying behind my foe, his demeanor is calm. There’s no playing to the crowd. Just an agonizing slow walk towards the cage.
As the Cloak comes into a clearer view, something catches my eye. This Cloak is noticeably skinny. Like, an unhealthy thin. He looks almost anorexic.
Stevie suddenly lets out an ecstatic cry of laughter. His balls of laughing can barely be heard over the crowd. I approach Stevie as my opponent is given his mouthguard/Vaseline rub.
Stevie looks over at me, “Blake! You didn’t tell me you were fightin’ a literal twig!”
“I didn’t know!” I shout, struggling to make my voice heard.
“Dude this is gonna be a piece of cake! Why in tarnation’d you go and get all mopey in the back, c’mon now!”
I listen to Stevie, as the Cloak gently walks into the ring. There’s a hobble in his step as he approaches his corner(?) (i.e. the opposite side of the ring. There are not really any corners in this arena.) Unphased by the crowd below him cheering him, the Cloak removes his cloak. He ties it to his gym shorts, creating a sort of boxing shorts look.
Stevie begins laughing again as we both see his pale skinny body. There’s hardly any sort of build to him. No chest, no abs, no arm muscles. Just a frail skinny dude.
“I know I said piece of cake, but he’s more of a sliver!” Stevie croaks.
The Cloak then turns, looking down with a slight tilt. His eyes are closed. He’s poised with a focused look.
I can’t tell whether or not to take him seriously or not.
“...and weighing in at a whopping two hundred and something pounds, representing the Cult of Cloaks, it's- uh...” the sound of papers being ruffled around, filled the room. “A Cloak known simply as… Juice.”
“Two hundred and something?! Ain't no way.” I say, turning around to Stevie.
“Right?! Lil guys built like a juice box-...” Stevie stops his insult. Looking past me with a tilted confusion. I turned back too.
Me and Stevie watch as Juice holds his hands to his chest. He closes his eyes, falling into a state of deep concentration. Purple mist begins emanating from his hands, gently spreading across his body. A few Cloaks from the crowd climb the rickety fence, and once they reach the top, they too begin clouding Juice in a layer of purple dust.
Something that I’ve only just begun to realize is how tall he is. Was Juice always that tall?? No, there’s no way he was.
My head continues to rise as he reaches his full height, now towering over me. He’s gotta be at least 6’6”. The bulk in his physique begins to show with bulky arms, and a popping chest. The real kicker is he never had bulk in his physique. It just… formed.
My eyes go wide as I realize what’s happening. There’s a reason he’s called Juice.
Because he’s juiced on magic.
He’s now got the arms of Mike Tyson, and the height of Muhammad Ali. He flexes, and his muscles nearly double in size. He opens his eyes. They glow a bright purple as he burns a hole right through me with that glare.
I feel cold chills squirming around my body, and all of my courage fizzles out in a pathetic wither. As quick as I feel a cold chill though, the cloak around me warms up again, almost like a heated blanket. I glance down at my body. The shaking is slowing, but the feeling makes me uncomfortable. I want to shake and tremble, but just can’t. I feel constricted.
“Alright, and uhh Blake, I’d introduce you, but I’ve just gotten a breakup text from my girlfriend, and I need to tend to this, sooo you guys have fun!”
Stevie starts saying something, but I can’t hear him. The noise of the crowd, as well as the sound of my anxiety drowns out everything. I feel a dizziness coming on, and my brain melts as the white noise grows. My breathing begins to shorten. I want to ball up again. I want to just cave in and cry.
Everything has come to a head at this very moment. I know I should probably focus my attention on my opponent, but I can't mentally make myself. My eyes drift to Stevie, who is flailing his arms at me. He is yelling something, but I can’t hear him. As I go to approach Stevie, I feel a hard fist slam against my left cheek.
* * *
I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t realize the fight had begun. Despite feeling a little hazed from the punch, I manage to get to my feet. Holding my hands up, I try to anticipate his next move. Juice circles me, occasionally taking a few jabs and kicks at me. I manage to block a few, but my limbs are already starting to sting. My toilet paper wraps Stevie had constructed have already begun to unravel.
Eventually my opponent bum rushes me and picks me up by my cloak. I dangle for a moment as he playfully lifts me high above his head. I hear his deep voice chuckle before throwing me across the arena. I slam face-first into the fence. The slack in the fence is immense, as it bounces me right onto the steel floor below. Sharp pain shoots across my body as I sprawl around like a rag doll.
Everything is already starting to feel sore, and I feel a speck of blood trickle down my forehead. Looking at my opponent, I see those two purple eyes are already charging me again. He winds his leg back, and goes to punt my forehead, football kicker-style. I manage to swing out of the way, feeling his foot brush through my hair. Using the brief moment I have; I scramble to my feet. I can barely keep myself standing. I’m not the most in-shape person to begin with, so I already feel like I’m about to collapse. I can barely do anything, as my combatant wraps his huge arms around my neck in a chokehold. He then brings us to the ground.
I squirm around, desperately trying to wiggle my way out of the headlock, but the grip only seems to get tighter. I feel air and energy quickly draining. Everything I’m seeing starts to blend together. The lights begin swirling around, and I think I’m even seeing stars. All I hear is the sobbing of Benny (he’d accidentally left his microphone on), as well as the muffled crowd going nuts. I feel as if my life is being sucked from my body. Death’s warm embrace seems to almost greet me with its gentle hands held out. I reach up, yearning to grab it.
“Ding Ding!”
The end-of-the-round bell rings in my ears as my opponent releases his grip and gets off of me. I can barely get myself to my feet. Despite being on the verge of passing out, I manage to see a shape of someone resembling Stevie leading me to a metal fold out chair. As my body slumps onto the seat, he begins patching me up.
I wince as he starts dabbing my cheeks with alcohol pads.
“Alrighty now Blake, I’m gonna need you to step it up. I mean that man is poundin’ you like raw chicken.”
“I’m thrying to, but Th-evie he's thwice my size!” I wheezed. I can barely talk from how winded I am. Having a big rubber mouth guard doesn’t help either.
Stevie chuckles before grabbing a water bottle.
“That my friend, is what she said!” he shouts before squeezing the water into my face. As the cold liquid hits my eyes, I feel myself coming to my senses. I open my mouth, getting a drink. The water tastes a lot better than it should.
"A word of advice though, maybe try tacklin’ him! Didn’t the wrastlin’ we watched growing up teach you anything??”
I take my mouth guard out, “Stevie I-... I’m not exactly trying to pin him for three seconds!”
“I know silly, you gotta hit ‘em till he falls to the ground!”
"Stevie how?!" I question him, "He's too fast."
Stevie pulls me up and turns my head towards the opposite corner.
“Look at ‘em, he might look tough, but he clearly doesn’t know where he is.”
Looking closer at my foe’s squared face, he seems to have a certain sway to him.
As he takes a drink of water, his purple eyes dart around as if he were dazed and confused. Occasionally his body twitches as if he's having a spasm.
“He looks like a total meathead.” I mutter out loud.
“See?! Guy might look big n’ tough, but he’s ‘roided out of his mind.”
As the bell for round two rings, Stevie gets up and scurries himself out of the rusty cage. He then turns around to face me, metal chair in hand.
"Just cause he's fast don't mean he's smart. Think outside of the box home slice!”
I nod in agreement and turn around. The last thing this guy would expect would be for me to attack right? I rack my brain, trying to remember a few of the moves I’d seen in pro wrestling. One of them has to work right??
As soon as the bell rings I run in, going for a grab at the legs to try and take him to the ground. However, my arm gets caught in my cloak, causing me to swing it around like a cape. My combatant sees me flailing like a jackass, and seizes the moment. Panicked, I dodge out of the way of a tackle. The guy goes for me again, and I jump to the right this time. This process begins to repeat itself, until eventually I’m running around the edge of the “octagon”.
“Ha ha!” I shout confidently before tripping, falling face first into the chain link fence.
I feel my cheek slice open, more blood dripping down into my eye.
Turning back around, my foe is right there ready to greet me. I try to evade, but he kicks me right in the gut. I fly right into the fence again.
“You’re not getting away this time!” he shouts.
The guy then goes to work, punching away at my face and body. Punch after punch, each blow hurts more than the last. As much as I try to block it, my arms begin to fall. I can’t keep them up. Everytime he hits my gut, I feel myself wanting to throw up.
I try to push myself off of him, but he’s too heavy. Pushing him only shoves me into the fence behind me. I’m stuck between a wall and a meathead. I hear the crowd going buck-wild as they see me get pummeled.
When he finally stops for a second, I try to book it again. Catching wind of me however, the opposing fighter grabs my hand.
He pulls back and whips my body past his. I begin sprinting towards the opposite chain wall. I try to stop myself, but It’s all too sudden. I clench my face, using my arms to brace for impact.
As with the other side of the arena, this wall of chain-linked fence has immense give to it. I hear the chain creak as I fall into it. It curves, and below I see the audience jeer at me. I feel as If I could fall right on top of them.
As I begin to straighten out, I feel a fist rock me right in the back of my head. My head jerks forward, slamming into the fence.
Everything starts to fade. My eyelids weigh heavier than I remember. I try to stop my head from swaying but can’t. I faintly hear the sound of a deep cackle, and a hand pushing the back of my head into the fence. If this chain fence was a cheese grater, I’d be a mushy paste within a few measly seconds. It bends again, as I’m greeted with the audience.
“H-ey-...” I stutter.
They jeer at me.
Suddenly I feel my head pulled back, as Juice then slams me face first into the wired barrier. I hear him laughing as he pushes my face into the chain-linked enclosure again. The rusted chain-linked fence bends farther the more I’m pressed into it. I feel myself leaning closer and closer to the wild crowd below. I wince in pain once more, the thin wire of the fence smashing into my sliced face. I feel another cut open on my chin, and more blood trickling down my face.
In this moment, looking out into the sea of patrons I see something. My eyes narrow at the sight, and once it registers in my brain, I inhale through my teeth.
One face amidst everyone else stands out like a sore thumb. The one person that isn't a Cloak. My heart immediately sinks, falling off the face of the Earth.
Time seems to freeze at this very moment as I recognize the face. The person. It’s her. The one girl I didn’t want to see. The hair, the face, burned in my mind for years. It was my other best friend, and long-time crush-
“T-Tia?!” I find myself stuttering through clenched teeth.