BAM

There was a loud thunk when I hit the mat. Rolling to the right avoiding a stomp then quickly hopping on my feet to avoid the disadvantage of being on the ground. Lifting my chin and making eye contact I throw a jab to gauge the distance and regain the tempo.

He grabbed my wrist and yanked me off balance to shoot his foot directly into my stomach. Hopeless to counter the air in my lungs left the body and soon after face planted onto the mat.

“You aren’t ready” Was the last thing I heard as the man walked away. ‘I wasn’t ready but everyone hopes they could be’

The man who left the mats was the owner of the small dojo hidden inside an alley. He was mostly just an old creep but he was strangely good at putting people on the floor and breaking their mentality. Being in his early sixties you would think he lacked strength but he could humble a prime fighter. His hair was short and pure white, his face always had the same unimpressed and pissed off look like everyone around him were idiots, and he always wore that black gi.

I met him about two weeks ago when passed out drunk in the alleyway. Waking me up around sunrise with a bucket of ice cold water and told me to piss off. Obviously not the best way to be woken up and my first instinct was to fight the old man. Just like ten seconds ago he simply beat and put me into the ground like usual. After doing so he found some pity and decided to feed me in the morning as we got acquainted. 

That’s when I found out he ran a small local dojo for teaching all ages about self defense and discipline. He was a rough old man but on the inside he cared about the people around him. Walking home, I managed to run into plenty of locals as they asked me about the man and they all spoke highly about what he did for them all.

Realization struck as I wanted to pursue what he taught more. The following morning I cleaned myself up and went back to ask him to teach me. What I expected was the old man to smile and be grateful that he could have another student, but what I got instead was an invitation inside and a thorough beating. “You are running head first into something you aren’t even looking at.” That weird phrase was all he said to me while he kicked me out of the place.

I continued to return day after day but he never budged. Even now, two weeks later, the man refused to do anything but throw me around and berate me and my actions. Then just like every other day that I left I ran into some locals as they spoke greatly about the man. I was slowly getting tired of the man, who many spoke caringly about, but would continue to push me away and stomp on my actions. Going home was a walk of shame for another failure.

Instead of going home though I decided to go to the bar. Not wanting to wait for a drink at the usual place I found a simple pub along the road I was already on.

Walking in, a small bell chimed, as the immediate smell of cigar smoke hit my nose. The place looked old and crusty but it was the stained wood style the place offered with the crowd of old men who made it seem homely. Every single person inside the bar looked at me, noticed my bruising and troubled face, and looked away like I didn’t matter. I was sitting at the bar when a woman in her early 30’s grabbed my attention and asked, “What’ll it be tonight?” I took a second to glance around the shelves and taps when I noticed a whiskey not seen in many places near the city, Seagram’s 7. I told the women to make a 7 & 7. My father used to always drink them but ever since he passed I’ve never settled enough to have a glass. When she put the glass in front of me the first part was to smell it. I choked up a little bit. Not because of the memories but because of the actual smell. It was about the cheapest whiskey you could get, but it surprisingly had a crowd who loved it. That crowd was farmers and old men but it was someone. I ditched the straw and slammed the first one. Setting my glass near the end of the bar I waited for the women to refill as I pulled out my phone and distracted myself with my next mistake. It was a message from my ex asking about how I’ve been and how she hopes we can still be friends. I started a simple conversation with her but I didn’t want it to go anywhere in particular. It started like most texts do with your ex, awkward then friendly until one person has the confidence to drop the news.

“I went on a date tonight”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

It was just a simple sentence but for me it was a reality check. I was still going out and getting drunk not thinking about my future. Just mindlessly working and spending my money on rent, food, and alcohol. I was happy for her but honestly on the inside I was sick.

The women finally refilled my drink after what felt like forever, in reality it was only two minutes, and I didn’t slam it like the first but it also didn’t last long either. I could feel the sweet embrace of the cheap whiskey mixing with soda and I finally realized why my dad fell in love with this drink so much. It felt so cheap and nasty but so comforting and releasing of the stress that’s been building up.

“I know things didn’t work out but I am glad you could find someone again. Did it go well?” Was what I sent and honestly wished for the conversation to end there but it never did. She proceeded to go into deep details and even told me about things I didn’t need to hear. The sickness was creeping up and I kept shooting drinks back.

It wasn’t until nearly two hours passed, long after I stopped talking to my ex, that I realized how much I was drinking. I was the only person left and the woman was asking me to kindly leave after paying since she was closing. I looked at her with glassy eyes and realized she was trying to gently say she didn’t want to continue serving me. I paid my tab and left a generous tip for her kindness.

I started to fumble through the streets realizing I don’t know the area enough while also being drunk. I continued to walk until I found a small store that sold beer. I grabbed two cheap 25oz and continued to walk around the unfamiliar area. The haze continued to form around my complicated feelings and also the alcohol slowing my brain processes down considerably. Not making any good decisions I decided to pop one of the beers and have it gone in a few minutes to clear up one of my hands. I sipped the other while taking long blinks and appearing in new areas every time.

After an unclear amount of time and realizing my can was empty I found myself by the familiar dojo. Before I could do anything I emptied my guts of all the bad decisions and promptly passed out on the street.

I was woken up by a cold bucket of water in the morning by the same old man who threw me around every day for the last two weeks.

“Come in” He walked away and I had no choice but to follow. Taking a few minutes to stand up and get over the heavy nausea feeling I stumbled my way inside of the dojo. By the time I arrived the old man was in the center of the mats with his gi on. HIs expression was even colder than normal and his eyes were determined. “Dress.” Was all he said as he threw another gi at me. I stepped away to get it on and it fit me almost perfectly. The man was mysterious and could somehow measure me without ever prior doing so. I walked back out and he was exactly the same as before I dressed. “We fight.” As he finished his sentence he slowly stepped towards me in his stance.

“Old man, I don't think I can do this.” I tried to calm him down but he ignored me while entering my strike zone. I tried to take a step away but he shot a quick kick into my calf. It stung more than the previous kicks did. This one kick, I could tell the old man was serious. Getting irritated at the old man I did a simple front snap kick but that was a terrible choice. He grabbed my leg and swept my back foot and firmly planted me on my back. Instead of following like he normally did, the old man went back to the center of the room.

“Again.” Was all he said. I was pissed off, hungover, and tired of people being inconsiderate of my feelings. “Fuck you old man!” I yelled as I ran towards him taking a wide right swing towards his face. He simply stepped out of the way, grabbed my shoulder, and shoved a knee into my stomach. He followed this by planting a hand on my chest, pushing me backwards, and sending a kick into my chest. I found myself rolling backwards onto the ground again, no air in my lungs, and trying to throw up but found nothing but dry heaving. The old man barely left the center of the room as he did all of this.

“Again.” He said dryly. I stood up and took caution. I had almost nothing left inside of me but I was so pissed off that I didn’t care. I took my time and slowly inched forward until I was close enough to send a kick his way. I pivoted my weight from my back to my front foot and sent my back foot towards the old man’s left shoulder. As he went to block I forced my momentum downwards into the old man's leg. Not having the time to properly block the kick the old man ate the hit and stepped towards me.

Sensing the old man’s anger I tried to get defensive but it was too late. He was already too close to try and back away. He sent a right straight for my face and I tried to swipe it out of the way but the old man expected that to happen and opened his hand. I noticed too late the punch was a fake as I felt the old man grab onto my shoulders and launch a charged knee into my gut. I tried to place my hands to stop the damage but the old man planted a second, third, and fourth knee. As my guard started to break he stopped, hopped back, and sent a side kick launching my exhausted body backwards.

I was completely empty in the gas tank and the old man knew it. “Breakfast, shower, then again we go Ray” He walked away without another word. I tried to get up and follow him but I was stuck to the mat with no way to get up.

“Fuck you Alexander” Was my final words as I fell asleep.