Foreign - Horizons

Regrets:

“I was the greatest, have I told you Loui,” Erik proudly confessed. Loui was the bartender in this dreary place (The Black Bull) although disinterested he egged the man on. “The greatest at what Erik, I’ve heard your feats of drinking and causing mischief but not else more.”

Erik darted his gaze around the bar, mainly to look like his story was slightly more meaningful than it truthfully was, in doing so he viewed the poorly lit pub in all its glory. Down to the piss-stained rug and the sticky oak tables, abruptly he settled his drunken gaze upon the bartender again “I was the IFC Light Heavyweight champion of the world, heck if I was born thirty years later, I would have been the UFC champion and then everyone would know my name.” The Bartender had listened to enough, he knew when to ignore one of the pubs patrons’ drunken ramblings.

“Oi,” Erik shouted, throwing his half empty pint glass at the barkeep. Luckily it just managed to miss the poor lad.

Almost instantly two scary looking large doormen began pacing towards him. Erik had noticed them watching a while ago, and boy did he fancy a fight.

 The bigger of the two reached him first, placing a hand of arrest upon his shoulder, gripping the doorman’s wrist and spinning in a show of dexterity Erik slammed his right elbow into the giants nose instantly causing a spurt of blood to come gushing out of it, he dropped producing a groan of pain on the way down.

Settling into a familiar fighting stance a grin began to spurt on Eriks face, ah to be alive again. Skipping the formalities, the second guy picked up a stool from the bar and in a hideous show of strength launched it towards him, managing to slip underneath it he used his downwards momentum to roll forwards propelling himself towards his assailant. Springing up Erik slammed his head into the bottom of his Jaw making him stumble backwards. What Erik hadn’t accounted for was the man’s steel like jaw even whilst the man’s head was shooting upwards, he swung a fist of fury towards Erik arresting his upwards trajectory. Quickly regaining his wits Erik fired back in rapid succession smashing the brutes face with a classic jab backhand combo and finishing it with a polite kick to the nether regions, the brute crumpled forward hands grasping at his crushed testicles.

Erik smiled, proud at his antics, what he hadn’t accounted for however, was a third man sneaking in a punch from behind causing him to stumble forward crashing into the bar knocking over all the perfectly good unfinished drinks. Erik sensing another sly punch slipped to the left narrowly avoiding a snappy jab coming from this third attacker. Turning around he noticed the space was tight, could he fire off his old signature shot – his question mark kick! In a wry spree of inspiration Erik did as much, shooting his leg upwards towards his attacker’s body then further pivoting on his lead foot finally quickly changing the trajectory of his kick and pushing his hips into it, he plunged his shin into the mans face only just noticing he wasn’t even a doorman just a pissed off bargoer.

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Erik wasn’t joking when he said he was the greatest, at a point he probably was. However, thirty years ago mixed martial arts wasn’t the renowned sport it is today, but for some it was their life, the sheer ecstasy gained in a fight, that was what he lived for. Unless you have also been in the octagon you will struggle to relate to the chemical reaction caused in a fight. Sadly, whilst chasing this Erik neglected all other aspects of life, being an orphan, he had no need to worry about family, his biggest regret was that trait followed him his whole life causing him to have no wife, no kids and no friends at the grand age of fifty-two. From his youth to now all he had was fighting, a pitiful state of existence one that which he only recently concluded, too late to change he figured as he peered down at the guy he just knocked out.

Sighing with exhaustion and a hint of sorrow he began drunkenly dragging himself towards the exit of the bar leaving the astounded patrons and barkeeper in an audible silence.

He managed to take a few steps until...

He was falling, head bouncing off the door frame and causing it to splinter, lying there with his face halfway out of the bar and the rest of his body inside. Suddenly he felt aware of all the muscles in his body, they felt utterly drained.

Something was definitely amiss he shouldn’t be so week. He felt a warmth pooling around him, a clear realisation of what had happened struck him, harder than any punch ever did… stabbed.  

Oh no, no Erik thought in a panic even though he was down in the dumps he was far from ready to die!

He mustered his scraps of strength and with all his might he attempted to lift his arms to his chest to at least staunch bleeding, alas it was futile, he had exhausted his reserves. This is it he thought, as his breath began to quicken.

The whole life flashing before your eye’s thing was far from a myth, he saw various key moments in his life, from his time in the orphanage, years of abuse and sadness passing in seconds and his Highschool life, what a waste of an opportunity that was constantly alone being too scared to let anyone in. Various different foster families, all pretending that they saw him as their own son nevertheless he saw through there useless illusions. The rare few happy moments like the first time he stepped into a fighting gym, that feeling would never escape his mind. Then of having first cage fight, finally being the one in control he had the power for the first time in his life. His first title fight, but the dream he had strived towards only to achieve and feel nothing but empty after. Countless meaningless nights spent moping in a bar or pub most of which ending up in a pointless fight like what had just occurred.

Bringing his meaning less life to a crescendo he somehow looked at his lying body via a third person view, allowing him to see his jet-black matted hair painted crimson with blood further sticking the lochs firm to the side of his face, his crooked and smashed nose from all the fights he had previously gotten in, his skin which clearly painted a picture of his age, all of the features that made him despise his physical form.

Lying there he came to an epiphany in that sad moment, he concluded he should have valued creating a family and savouring them, fleeting bonds of friendship he had the opportunity to create, he vowed that if he ever got another chance, if some god or some being even a devil/demon figure deemed him worthy of another chance, he would do it all different, no better that time round.

“Please,” he whispered as a tear trickled down his cheek, the first tear he shed since he was but a child.

The darkness began to creep in, and he knew his time was up… everything began to fade away darkness ensued.