Broken Bones and Broken Promises |Year 2033: Anneka|

Hearing my mother’s voice on my phone this morning was hardly a surprise; she called before my every match. 

“Dear, please win already or else I will beat you up myself to show you the terror of facing a true opponent next time I see you back home.” I laughed at the image of something so absurd. She threw a playful jab to show her refusal to accept the results I had come up with. I knew I should show my best to back up the thorough training she would come home to see every day. I never knew what to expect from my mother who thankfully and begrudgingly let me become a weapons obsessionist and a MMA fighter when she could have prohibited me for any number of reasons. There is a sublime feeling I get when showing my mother my chosen hobbies and oddities. Now, there was one more person I expected to see today.

Times up, Lex. You say you won’t let me down, but then you do. I tap myself lightly on the cheek. No, I’m the one being stupid; I should stay certain that he will come the matter what. Of course, I owe it to him to believe that much. I can feel the warmth and fluidity of my muscles positioned in my corner and I prepare my mindset to fight with my full body’s energy and intense mental flow. I’m not surprised to feel a sudden tapping on my shoulder from my coach. It is time to put on a wonderful show. We give way to the announcer.

“Today in our arena’s apex, we have the main event of the women’s featherweight championship! Made up of five five minute rounds with a one minute break in between. In our blue corner, we have the challenger, Anneka Boyanna, weighing in at 144 and a half pounds with a height of 5 '10 vs the yellow corner containing the reigning champion, Straight Edge Jóna, who is 143 and a three-quarters today, standing tall at 5' 9! She is looking in great form, winning her last 6 matches with a record of 24 wins and 2 losses and she is ready to continue with another solid win using her knockout punches. Anneka boasts a prodigal run of 8 dominant wins always within the first two rounds, until her recent back to back losses. We are looking at a great fight today of two dominant striking oriented fighting styles.”

I touch gloves with her and suddenly I feel a searing ache all across the right side of my face and jaw. The sting and loss of energy from taking another straight jab to the face. So far this round, time has been moving slowly as I’ve entered an immersed fighting and mental state of flow. I can see her movements, yet she lands a significant blow and a couple of minor blows. I consciously keep my footwork steady, intentional, and active. The battle instinct that I dismissed to my shadow before my last two fights beckoned and called fiercely to be let out into the fray. I was always slightly reluctant to concede that they were necessary to my being, but my last two losses proved that in order to be a weapon, we had to be inseparable. I continued trying my best to feel out the opponent’s tendencies with my hungry instinct, comparing her to the films of past matches that I studied for hours in preparation with my coach. If things followed the normal sequence of my analysis, then I may be knocked out or forced to submit like almost all of her opponents, unless I forced her to make losing mistakes.

Using my head, I unconsciously and automatically went through the three main branches of actions I could employ in MMA to attack. Grappling or wrestling my opponent, striking or punching them, and throwing them down in the cage. Of course, the sport is also characterized by the minor and major mind games you could play with the opponent by reading or outmaneuvering them. The only way to win would be to work my mental setup with her until the time comes to take full advantage of mentally conditioning my opponent. I tried to deal some damage to her leg muscles with a calf kick, but she slid back in time. We played a series of quick faints in the center. Then she postured her eyes subtly toward my stomach and motioned to kick me there. I moved my hands down to block, but my instinct yelled at me to move my head back or to the side instead. My head went back, but it only slightly reduced the impact of getting hit with a hard, unblocked kick to the head. I’m concussed, and she starts slugging and one punch hits me right above my eyebrow, causing my face to leak red. I have no choice but to move back and apply pressure back to avoid a flurry of blows that could lead to the knockout. It’s difficult because my vision is impaired from the bleeding flowing down. Jóna is unemotionally proving her title with expertise coming from her powerful punches and fighting IQ. I had to exchange punches with her, hardly making progress until the bell rang.

I don’t know why I agreed to Anneka’s proposition last week and made a promise that would go against my beliefs to follow. I knew some psychological reasons for why people enjoyed fights. It comes from the drama, uncertainty, and adrenaline of being present and tense in the fast motions, but I feel inclined to think about it logically and then I feel like there is no moral or right reason to take part. It was all I could think about, standing outside the large, threatening arena. I suppose I succumbed to a momentary impulse coming from only her eyes. They conveyed a commandment to come witness something monumental combined with a subtle call to experience something unknown to me which tapped into my overflowing curiosity. In any case, the fight has already started, I need to suspend this and follow up on my promise. I just need to go inside.

“Wow!” The microphone rings. “What a brilliant round and crowd, we’ve had the joy of witnessing today in Boston! Jóna’s showed a convincing advantage over Anneka’s striking, so far. Seen in her setup and the extreme damage that she lets off. Oh, it is explosive! Will we see Anneka try another approach or will she stick to her guns?”

This is all part of my conditioning. I repeat like a mantra, while sitting down in my corner. Since my first fight in MMA, my conditioning has started then. I’m only mediocre at striking; the only reason I could win earlier in my career was because of my developed instincts, not natural gifts or even practice. Now I can unveil the reason I’ve been studying biomechanics and anatomy. They come together with the grappling and body chokeholds I am going to use to win this championship. I’ve never relied on any other style besides striking before and I’ve purposefully gotten roughed up in past fights, and still refused to switch my approach to throwing or grappling. Jóna should have no idea what my other skills are and she has no past footage or knowledge to analyze. The moment I grapple should cause a second of hesitation or confusion, which is more than enough to create a solid hold and knock her out. My time to rest is up and I touch gloves.

I stay steady and observant and then I leave my forward foot vulnerable. She bites and moves with a strong kick. I grab her leg in the motion, throwing off her balance and I use her leg as a lever and contact point to force her to keep backing up and stumbling down to the mat. I try to properly drop on her, but she moves quickly and efficiently to reverse the situation. She pins my back to the side of the cage with the technique of cage fighting. We struggle down low while I’m pinned and I use my elbows to irritate her head. This forces her to give up and we both move gradually to standing up, with me still on the cage, but throughout I have an awkward isolation hold on her left arm by looping my arm around hers with my shoulder firmly on top, using all of my height advantage. She takes her position as a sign to knee me and punch me under. I eventually give up the hold because I can’t make progress and grab her body like a bear, all around and trip her left leg to tumble her down to the mat again in a slam with all my weight. I furiously use my legs and hips to take a mounting position using strikes to disorient Jóna. This is it. Then as she is unprepared, I take her right arm and rapidly turn, twist, and wrap my body around it. Jóna tries to counter it, but my persistent legs encircle her neck with me still strangling the arm and putting her in a side triangle choke. Jóna’s trapped inside and calm as ever can tell that the hold is incomplete and not as strong as it could be because I lost strength from blows and bleeding for 2 rounds. Shoot. She manages to force my legs apart and tries to go for the reposition to start her own submission. I twist and squirm to avoid the attack, but she still takes me to the mat, back down in a mount. For the last 30 seconds, I attempt to stall and dodge her punches and keep track of her grappling, so she can’t grab me.

I’m disheartened. I get a chance to breathe, but round two was just another dog fight with no advantage for me. I think about my backup plan. Yep, I don’t have one. If surprise and preparation fails there is no guaranteed secondary winning plan that rivals the first; all that’s left is to use my battle instinct, fight with my heart ablaze, and mind clear as the sky with the last of my stamina. I am sure that if I cannot knock her out this round, the advantages she has will mount and I will lose myself in round four or five. I breathe and move slowly to feign being more tired.

My battle instinct is evolving as a direct result of my back being pinned up to the wall and it showed me a risky sequence that I could use if I were able to dodge my enemy’s movements that my evolved instinct was helping me visualize ahead of time. Jóna will be wary of my grappling. She may choose to just strike, yet if she is any true MMA fighter, if I give her a fight winning advantage, she should not hesitate to take it. While exchanging blows, I lose balance and take my eyes off her. It creates a moment of opportunity that she uses to throw me to the mat and mount one of my legs to start using an upright ground and pound. It’s a brutal technique. My entire head and arms are filled with pain while being hit with punches and elbows on the ground from the top with leverage onto my head with an open cut. Staying awake takes my willpower. She’s comfortable and confident, so it’s now that I spring the sequence. Starting with using my other leg to create enough force to free my trapped leg. Then within half a second, I use my legs to slither straight up onto both sides of her left shoulder, pulling her wrist down with my hands and using my hip’s position as a fulcrum to target and hyperextend her elbow joint using an armbar. I can see her fierce expression as she tries to move up from the mat, but I stay in perfect form even with my body being turned upside down. My hold coldly threatens her. Tap out and lose, or get ready to have a destroyed arm. Jóna predictably tapped at the same time the referee was going to stop the fight.

Automatically, I get up on my knees and pump my fists and arms, making L’s in front of me. My eyes are closed to take it in while I holler and thunder in absolute triumph piercing the tune of the crowd for what my mind believes is my forever. It feels impossible for me to get my head out of my fighting for my life response with the full belief that everything depended on winning. Still, the one thing I can fully recognize is I am the champion. Finally, I’ve done it. Maybe it is over. With a scare, I was interrupted by my other voice, but when I turned to face them, they were distorted and bonded together with my battle instinct in a scratchy and transformed being.

“You are lying to yourself. Don’t you ever dare forget the fundamental difference between someone continuously aiming for the top and someone who aimlessly settles. We are not ever going to be finished fighting and if you believe that you are, you will see the horror of turning back to the old you that you want to overcompensate for and forget. Winning does not mean that you are enough.”

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I’m shocked by the electric atmosphere as I take a seat where I can see the match well and take in my surroundings. I hear the announcer and realize I’ve wasted time and missed the first and second rounds. I look toward the ring and see that Anneka’s losing blood with the cut is still open. Ugh. I wince. I hate seeing other people get hurt and be in pain and I feel even more deathly when I have to witness it happening to my friends. There is nothing I can do as I watch her get pounded by her opponent on the floor of the mat. I wish to do something. I offer my own unique cheer into the mess. Then as if watching a miracle, I feel my body slow and with all my visual senses being brought mesmerizingly together. I watch her pull off art in the form of movements, finesse, and violence. The short couple of seconds erupted into the satisfying ending where I saw Anneka triumphant. I beheld a white and red lily that looked beautifully violent ascending from its place among a pond of water categorized by splatters of blood. It was lonely. Why wasn’t I appalled? Was it because it was Anneka?

It turns out I didn’t get time to think about my other voice before being given the belt for my win and medical attention for my injuries. Afterwards, it was still raging inside as I was given the microphone to talk about my thoughts and life in this champion’s press conference.

“First question from the crowd. Is there anyone you would like to dedicate this fight and your victory to?”

“Yes, I’d like to thank my mother and my friend if he had shown up today.”

“What friend? Do you have an unknown partner you don’t talk about?”

“No, it's nothing like that. He just promised to come talk to me before the match and cheer, but the idiot must not understand promises.”

“I do understand promises! Look at me, I’m here!”

I look up to the stairs and see Lex standing tall to project his voice. I slowly announced on the microphone back. “I am going to get you for this, Lex.”

What? Shakily and ridiculously, my mouth widens. The crowd and conference devolve into an unscripted flurry of questions and emotions and I see Anneka push her way past the crowd, sprinting toward me. Between staying and leaving. I decide in a weird panic that I should be away. Far away.

Huh, Lex really isn’t making progress, even with a head start and me needing to weave through a tight crowd. I grab his wrist outside the building and he turns back and tries to move both his hands up to act caught. I’m lost and tired, but I let out words. “What was that about? What do you have to say for yourself and your actions? Where is a sorry?” My vicious focus overlays how upset I am and it buries itself deep into his opposing face.

I lean my head down and push my forehead against hers. No one dares to blink. “Anneka, you don’t scare me. I don’t think you ever will. Why are you acting differently than normal?”

I hesitate and pull away. “You may be right, but you are also acting in an unfamiliar state right now.”

I squint my eyes. Yeah, I’m not saying what I want to say. I lift my chest and give in. “Your fight today was beautiful. The takedown and the aftermath were so great that you could wish for more. Above all, you demonstrated what fighting means to you.”

I hold back because I’m caught with my guard down and I feel my hand loosen on his wrist.

“Anneka, I know I kind of broke our promise, so I don’t care if you don’t want to tell me the reason you fight like that.” I search for the right words. “We’ve always been close friends ever since we met. I feel comfortable in your company. I guess I want to ask if you will continue that by being partners with me, sharing in a collaborative dream to change the world.”

“So you think about this type of stuff too? Together, we are going to do away with the darkness?” With each word, I felt my antagonist lose its weight on my thoughts and crawl back to its depths below to continue in wait.

“Of course, let's both swear it.” I sent my fist toward hers and they collided in a clicking fist bump.