Short Story / Fight Club.

        The car showed up on Friday night, rumbling as if it was alive. That was when the habit started. My body was shoved into the back seat of a small, black car, and a voice from the front told me not to ask any questions. I wanted to know where we were going, but they wouldn’t tell me. Rule one, they kept repeating, rule one.
        We pulled up in front of an old building and they pushed me down the basement steps. I stumbled over the ragged stairs and fell into a room full of men, ranging in ages of sixteen to their thirties. This will make a man of you, they said, this is what men are.
        I turned my attention to two men in the center. One had bruises. The other, a boy, was untouched. Not for long. The fight began, and the bruised man hit the boy with an uppercut. The man that brought me began talking softly in my ear. “The first rule about Fight Club is you do not talk about Fight Club.” The boy grunts as a low jab catches him in the stomach. He swings back frantically, to no avail. “The second rule is you DO NOT talk about Fight Club.” A fist connects with the boy’s face and brings him down.  “The third rule is If someone says stop, goes limp, taps out, the fight is over.” The boy isn’t moving. The blood from his face is everywhere, on the walls, on the floor, on the nearby croud. They start to drag the boy off and I begin to mechanically walk forward. I am no longer listening to the man in my ear, I know what to do.
        I walk into the circle and face the man that destroyed the boy. His body is there, sweating, scarred, ready. I run my mind through what I know. Always be on defense. Grab the right spot in his arm and it goes numb. His eyes will give him away. Hit him in the soft spot behind his ear and he’s unconscious. Press the right spot in his palm and his knees buckle. Basic. Easy.
        I look back to the man that brought me here and find him staring. Piercing me with eyes, arms, expectations. I realize that this was not my choice. Fighting is a need. Fighting is basic. Fighting will make a man of me. I look back to my opponent and bend my knees. Ready? Set.
        Go.

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