The evening had started out normal enough. I moved around the furniture in my Anchorage apartment, cleaned the kitchen and bathroom, and had some roast, that I cooked, for dinner. After that I got my keys and put on my coat. Locking my apartment, I headed towards my car. For a moment I lay here trying to piece together what happened next. It's difficult but it begins to filter back into my thick skull. I got to my car and in the reflection of the window I saw a familiar face....and the swinging of a shovel. It was the last thing I saw before waking up on my back. So why is my nose full of blood? The impact must have caused me to go face first against my car.
There's no doubt in my mind who the familiar face was. Darrel Hacker aka Monsta. He's a street thug that I fought on a couple of occasions in the underground fighting ring. If you could call it a ring. It was a basement where small time, crime lords made money off gambling proceeds from brutal fights that only ended when one fighter was unconscious. I didn't get into it because I liked the people or because I wanted to make some underground name for myself. Hell I was only partially into it for the money. I don't really care about money, but I needed enough to live off of. In the end it was my need for violence. Now I don't really like violence, but there's something inside. Something attempting to claw its way out from beneath the surface of my skin. Something I hate. It's a monster that will always be a part of me, but if I can get out the aggressive urges that build up inside me daily, I can keep it from getting out and taking me over.
My parents had the same problem, but chose another route. They not only let it take them over, but in fact, they enjoyed the hell out of it. I've never met either of them. I've watched from a distance....in the dimension I spent most of my life trapped in. So to release myself from the grip of the monster within I went into this underground fighting. The thing about it was, that everyone who fought hated each other. Most of em were trying to make a name, build a reputation, and gain vast amounts of money. The money thing would never happen for any of them. Only the crime lords made real money. Monsta was the dumbest of the dumb. He fully believed not only these things, but his own hype as well. He lost to me three times and swore revenge. That's not a first for me. The last guy to do that ended up stabbing me in the ribs in an alley. I'm glad I've gotten out of doing this shit. Wrestling will hopefully lead me to better results. Besides, the competition should be fiercer and allow me to keep the monster at bay.
Finally my vision begins to clear. The Big Dipper hovers above me. Slowly I start to get up, the snow making crunching noises beneath my moving body. Carefully, I stand up and manage to maintain my balance. It's now I hear something pushing it's way through the air. Instinctively I duck as a shovel flies just over my head. I roll forward and turn around. He lunges forward, swinging the shovel in a downward arc. There's definitely no time for conversation. Damn, I really don't need this though. I shift to the side and jump forward. The handle cracks against my shoulder before both of our heads collide. We fall to the ground in a heap. I feel a knee hit my gut before I roll off of him. I hear the clang of metal on bone as the head of the shovel strikes my forehead. Blood begins running down my face. I feel something stir within me. I recognize what it is instantly. I hear words come out of my mouth, but hardly notice I speak them.)
Oh god no...
(He laughs and steps over me, his digging tool in hand.)
That's right bitch. Beg!
(He has no idea what's really going on. A chill runs up my spine, followed by something that feels like...power. The muscles in my upper body all tighten. I listen to him laugh, as if it's coming from some far off place. All I can think of is how mad I am at being in this situation. How angry I am at being blindsided by this prick. How pissed I am that I can feel myself losing control. It's as if my veins fill with acid as they suddenly begin to burn in my feet. The fire within them quickly begins to move up through the rest of my body. As it spreads through my chest and arms and begins to move towards my head I realize how futile it is for me to fight it. Oh god no, I can't stop it ! I don't recognize my own voice as I scream. It's tone is too harsh. Too laced with bitterness, hatred, and despair.)
(Then everything is red. He stands over me looking almost confused, but decides things are going to attract too much attention if he doesn't end it soon. He swings for my neck. I roll towards him. The shovel strikes asphault after it slices through the snow. I jump to my feet quickly. He takes an ill-advised swing in too close of quarters. I grab his hand by the wrist. My nails dig into his flesh. I can't think of anything but hatred and rage. I stare into his eyes as I feel my body begin to shake. My breathing goes erratic as I grow closer to fullfilling my only desire. His destruction. Must strike down. With my free hand I begin punching him in the ribs. So much power. I feel stronger with every punch. He makes odd noises before I hear some cracking. I can't stop. I won't stop. My arm just keeps swinging. Some kind of gutteral warble escapes his lips. The beautiful sound of agony. Each impact of my fist I can feel bone continue to give way. He drops the shovel. His knee comes upward and catches me in the stomach. I let go of him.
He stumbles back while holding his ribs. I can't stop shaking. The fact that he just struck me with his knee only fuels the fire within me. I can't stop myself...nor do I want to. I quickly walk right up to him. He throws a punch that I easily dodge. I grab him by the throat with both my hands and squeeze tight before throwing him to the ground like a rag doll. Without any warning I leap onto his back and grab the back of his head. As I'm slamming his face against the ground I can feel a part of me returning. It's as if this part of me is begging me to stop. I want to now, but I still can't. I watch as blood pools around his face. All the fire within me begins to fade, giving way to an empty hollowness. I stop my attack and just sit there on his back. It takes a minute for me to return to normal. The shaking is still there, but it's not the same kind.
How could I allow this to happen? This isn't me. What have I done? I'm overwhelmed by a multitude of emotions. I didn't want this. Sure he attacked me, but....god is he still alive? I check his pulse. He's alive, but I have a feeling he's going to need reconstructive surgery on his face. I can't keep letting this happen. I've got to get out of here. Tears begin to slowly stream down my face, mixing with the blood. I feel horrible and the sorrow is too much for me to bear. As if I'm a little girl all over again I run. Away from him, away from the city, I run. I don't stop till my lungs hurt. I didn't even bother to check where I was going. Where am I?
I look at the trees all around me. In front of me is a clearing. Why does this look so familiar? I walk to the clearing, my feet feeling heavy in the snow. This isn't just a clearing I realize. Several steps in front of me is a spot that has been shoveled. It's just a square area of dirt surrounded by snow. On the other side of the dirt there's a piece of stone on the ground. Stepping onto the dirt, I stop and look at what's been etched into the stone. It brings me to my knees. There's a name on it. Andrea Raven....my mother's grave.
I stare at it unable to speak. Blood continues running down from my head and face. I ignore it as it drips onto the dirt beneath me. I can't take my eyes off this stone. I feel as if I have no strength left in my body. I collapse onto the mixture of cold dirt and my blood. Even with feeling like I'm not alone, I don't want to move. I'm just too exhausted. It's now I realize I'm probably not all there. I could swear I feel movement. Suddenly the soil beneath me parts and a pale hand shoots out of it. I scream in terror before jumping backwards. In front of my disbelieving eyes the dirt begins to shake and crack as if an earthquake was causing the ground to heave upwards. A figure climbs from beneath the ground and slowly stands. I look at the tattered clothing before noticing her crimson hair and looking up at her dirt stained face. A pair of pitch black eyes stare down at me. There's a sickness laced within their powerful glare that frightens me at the core of my being. Her lips part and I hear a voice so etched with strength and hatred it makes me want to recoil.)
Thanks for bringing me back little whelp.
(My vision starts to blur again as I get lightheaded. I utter one last word before falling on my face and passing out.)