When Amimals Attack

Pressure. Pressure is what caused him to throw the first punch. The pressure to be brave, be the strongest, the pressure to win. But it was a wild one. The pit of his stomach told him it was too late to will his fist to retract and he hoped his opponent, El Diablo, would be just that fraction of second slower. However he knew by the look in El Diablo’s eye it was over. Everyone knows that when you throw a wild punch it’s over one way or another.

El Diablo felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand as he saw it breeze by his face. If it connected he was a goner. But it didn’t connect and immediately instinct took over. Three jabs deep into the left ribcage. He grit his teeth and hit even harder, pummeling his opponent and enjoying the sound of air pushing out of him with each hit.
“YEAH, MOTHER FUCKER!”
“YEAH, MOTHER FUCKER!”
“ESTOY EL DIABLO!”
“EL DIABLO, MOTHER FUCKER!” he roared while the saliva drooled and foamed out of the corners of his mouth.

Severe pain from cracked ribs along with the screaming and yelling crowd made it too difficult to focus any longer. Lights and people were spinning in his head. If only they would stop shouting. He closed his eyes and collapsed down to one knee. Another hit and he tumbled to the floor. The last thing he heard was a man’s voice scream,
“Get that animal off him!”
It was suddenly peaceful and he was flying. Soaring like a bird through a deep, warm, red canyon. His body floated toward the red rocks and then circled into darkness.