The Fight For Her Future

Arena of NîmesCreative Commons License Wolfgang Staudt via Compfight


She stands in the arena
Her past and future clamoring and yelling.
She girds herself for the fight for her life.
She squints her eyes as her first opponent arrives.
He looks like a nightmare, with a perfect smile.
His hair, perfectly styled.
His clothes, dressed like hell for leather.
She remembers him.
She fell in rescue for him.
But hug a muddy pig and you’ll be dirty.
He is Mr. I-Can-Change-Him.
He winks at her, she clenches her fists.


Round 1: Fight!

He leads with a chain linked with lies.
“Come over here” as the chain wraps around her and drags her.
She struggles as he tells her how much fun they’ll have if they get back together.
She fights against the chains and starts to believe him tell her
How much he’s changed.  How different it would be. How much he loves…
It was the “love” that sent her into a rage.
How. Dare. You. The painful memories pump through her veins.
She roars and snaps the chains.  He takes a step back
“Please baby, remember that one time when..”
She nails him with a right hook right in his mouth.
A few quick jabs to the stomach, a firm kick to the crotch
And he falls.  Fight over.

He crawls away as the scar of him mends on her heart.
She catches her breath as the screams of her past and future
Fill the arena.
Her next opponent walks into the squared circle.
He’s dressed with all the right credentials.
He looks like a conglomeration between her parents and friends.
Mr. He’s-Perfect-For-You.
“Hey, it’s been a while, you look great.”
She looks at him with disgust.

Round 2: Fight!

He starts talking about his M.A., his Ph.D
How his investment portfolio is looking promising, etc.
The more he talks, it’s like she is hypnotized
Into a state of comfortable security.
He goes on about the condo he just bought uptown.
His Land Rover, his Junior Vice Presidency at the firm.
His Armani suits, how he volunteers at the soup kitchen…
On and on he rambles, she finds herself being lulled to sleep.
A lullaby on the lips of the status quo.
She falls to a knee, trying to cover her ears, when
“Oh, I spoke with your mother for an hour yesterday
She says hi and to call her.”

It was as if a lightening bolt hit her.  SHAZAM!
“My. Mother?  Oh heck to the no.
You were always her favorite, wanted me to settle down
Be your trophy, lose my identity…”
She grabs a clump of dirt, hurls it right at his mouth.
He gags, chokes, and gives her a chance to  regain herself.
She charges him, knocking him and his $1,000 suit to the ground.
She grabs his $100 tie, wraps it around her right hand
And squeezes.
He tries to struggle, but he’s outmatched by her raw anger.
“My mother!”  She screams and chokes him until he passes out.
She stands over him, shaking her head
“3 1/2 years with this fool.
I even cut my hair because he said it wasn’t becoming a professional.”
She walks away as he disappears, his scar mending on her heart.

A hush falls over the crowd.
She looks around, this guy should be the last one.
There rest of the guys she dated didn’t affect her like these two.
There isn’t anyone…oh no.
Oh no no no no no
Not him.
The wound was so deeply buried
The wound that led her to all her other relationships.
The first.
He walked into the arena, nice pair of jeans, nice button down.
Unassuming, looking like a real-life Clark Kent.
She met him in college, well liked by everyone.
The ladies wanted him, guys wanted to be like him.
Mr. All-I-Want-Is-A-Nice-Guy.
She called him out by his name.
Deceiver.  Abuser.  Devil in Disguise.

Round 3: Fight!

She remembered how nice he was, how he treated her like a princess
At first.
She was only a Freshman, he was a Junior.
She remembered how he began to change, slowly at first
He chose the restaurants, he chose what they would do.
Then he chose who she would spend her time with
Her phone checked at all times.
She remembered how he respected her desire to wait
She wanted her first time to be special.
Until he decided time’s up and pinned her to the floor
Of his dorm room, his roommate pretending to sleep
Pretending not to hear her screaming.
All the memories came back like a flood.
“You made me hit you.  You’re making me hurt you.”
Her body used for his pleasure whenever the mood struck him.

She grabs her stomach, falling to her knees.
Crying, heaving, her whole body trembling.
“It’s too much. I can’t..I can’t…”
He just stands there, grinning.
She looks to the crowd
Silent they remain, as if they are
The biggest and deepest scar, scabbed over by all her other relationships.
It was now or never.  Deal with this once and for all.
She slowly walks over to him
Stares him right in the eyes.
He gives up immediately, he doesn’t have
The testicular fortitude for an actual battle.
He runs away, leaving a trail of urine
From where he peed on himself out of fear.
Facing this wound was the turning point.
The scar of him is deep and wide, yet healing slowly begins.
She starts to fall, hope appears and holds her close.
Love comes to tend to her wounds.

Her future cheering for her like never before.
As her life
Begins anew.



[Poem #164.  Author’s Note: For something somewhat related, read this poem I wrote a few months ago:  Stuff.


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