Right jab, left hook. Jab, uppercut, backfist. I threw techniques in random orders, as fast as I possibly could. I had trained so hard for this. The fight of my life. It would determine if I kept my house or not. I kept throwing punches and kicks, dodging my opponents attacks.

I finally pushed him up against the cage, throwing blows to his solar plexes and ribs. He grabbed a hold of me, putting me in a choke hold. I struggled to get free, still pushing him against the walls. I tried to find a way out, losing more air by the minute. I grabbed his head, and made my hand to his legs. I grabbed him by the neck and the leg, and propelled all of my energy upward. I threw him over my shoulders, carrying myself with him.

He let go of my neck, giving my the oppurtunity to slam my fists into his face, causing his head to crash onto the bottom of the octogon. I kept punching. Sweat rolled into my eyes, stinging as it did so. Cuts on my face bled. I felt like I was in a war. I started remembering the old days.

"Drop and give me 50!" the DI yelled. "YES SIR!" I replied. I dropped to the ground, all the while thinking how stupid I was for talking back to the DI.

Those were the days. Day after day of drills and combat. I loved being a marine.

I kept punching. He had covered his face, so my punches were not of much use. Just one slip up was all I needed. Just for him to take his hand off his head for one second and I could put him into an arm bar. I focussed less on the face and more on the arms, trying to punch them out of the way.

That's when I saw my chance.

His hand had slipped from all of the sweat on his bald head. I quickly seized the opportunity. I swung my left leg over his head and onto his chest, pulling his arm as I did so. Once his arm was fully extended, I thrust my hips into the air to push his arm up. He grunted in pain, but I paid no mind. I held that way. I could hear my trainer screaming at me. Don't you quit now! He would yell. He could see that I couldn't withstand much longer.

But I had to. If I didn't win this fight, and I didn't get the winner's money, my whole life would go down the drain. I can barely afford the monthly mortgage on my house. My two jobs didn't cut it. Fighting used to be just in the gym. A hobby, some would call it. It took all of my money. It controlled me.

And now here I was, fighting proffessionally, fighting to keep my position in the fight.

I kept at it. I could hear the ref yell Ten more seconds! I couldn't survive another round. I pulled on his arm even harder. He now screamed. I felt him tap on my leg. I didn't stop though. Not until the ref pulled my from him.

I rolled away from him, relaxing my muscles. I looked at the ceiling of the building. All of my hard work had finally paid off.

I did it.