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ecotone99 · 5 years

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[SF]You are the only child of a dictator in a dystopian future. Secretly, you intend to reform society and bring an end to your family's rule upon taking power. Unfortunately, you are kidnapped by rebels before you can put any of this into action - and needless to say, the rebels don't like you.

It had been about thirty-three years since a nuclear conflict between the Soviet Union and the United States of America had almost brought an end to modern civilization. In a period of three days, both the Soviet Union and the United States had decimated both of their armies and agreed to a hasty diplomatic truce. Historians now call it the first global revolution, because it revolutionized the way global society functioned and the hardships it sparked spurred forth a period of massive technological innovation and political change. To compensate for the damage that was done to the global economy, large incentive existed for both mega-corporations and national governments to create new means to provide for a massive lower-class that had been created by the conflict. Unfortunately, this period of change came with the growth of totalitarian and corrupt governments globally. Facing swaths of displaced and restive refugee's, the armies of many countries became desperate and sought to create dictatorships to maintain a fledgling sense of national identity. With resources scarce and money consolidated within the hands of a few, there was little incentive for public officials to keep their promises and they stole from the public left and right.

I was born about four years before this conflict began, in 1985, and have no memories of this period. I've been told that my country was just as poor then as it is now, but that we are no longer weak and exploited. In school, we learned that some suppressed revolt in Eastern Germany led to the outbreak of conventional conflict in Europe which led to the 'revolution' in a matter of three weeks. My country and many others were left largely unscathed by the conflict, but still suffered the consequences of it. In my brain lies years of ingrained propaganda that filled every school and television station that I ever saw, but I know that my country is really no different from any other. I've witnessed everything I can about the true state of affairs of the world first hand, and can't help but feel pessimistic towards everything. All those promising ideologies that I was raised under, which fluctuated quite rapidly through a few years of political revolutions, were broken the minute I found myself at the top. And what weighs down on me even more is the fact that, while I am technically in the highest position of power, I have never before had to heed to the directives of others more than I do now. Everywhere I turn, someone or something is trying to infiltrate my mind, and gain influence over my own vision and what I seek to do to uplift my people from the ashes of what we call a 'country.' They only want to protect their own interests, which is understandable, but it obstructs the path towards accomplishing what needs to be done. As dramatic as it may sound, I can truly not trust anyone - sometimes not even my own rationale.

I was raised in a slum. I suffer from terrible eyesight and my left leg is longer than the other, deformities I incurred over years of malnutrition. My father died in a factory accident when I was only six years old, and my mother was killed by a stray bullet that missed a hated community drug dealer who had accidentally caused a wave of overdoses when he put too much fentanyl in a heroin patch. I know the story because many of my peers I grew up around faced the consequences of that decision, and I could rest at night knowing that he had still been killed anyways. As an orphan, I was sent to a government-owned boarding school deep in the inner-city. I learned quickly that I would not get anywhere without fighting for myself, which enabled me to get far even with my physical disabilities. Eventually, once I began my political career, this drew admiration from the country as my limp gave the obvious appearance of someone fighting against their disabilities. I study hard in school, and used the faculties provided to me to make me a sharp and concise writer. I knew that I would need to be able to intelligently spell out my ideas if I wanted to get out of that mess, so I put all of my energy towards that. When I had to work hard to just survive, I didn't have any time to be preoccupied with insecurities, which allowed me to maintain a strong sense of optimism. A mentality that I must work to maintain even now, in my finest hour. So, what the people saw was a smiling man with a terrible gait and a limp, which was both endearing and encouraging. I don't think I would have won the election without this.

The 'Socialist Republic of Mexico' was founded in 1994 when the military intervened in a constitutional crisis and reformed the constitution. This preceded a period of massive economic growth, as the world began to rebuild and demanded oil and cheap manufacturing to accomplish this. Mexico could easily provide this, because only two or three missiles had actually landed on the country, allowing it to become one of the most economically strongest nations in the world. To the north America had collapsed into some ideologically vague military dictatorship as soon as the war had finished. It was now closed off to the world, allowing no one to enter or leave, except the Americans that were able to escape in the short period of chaos after the war.

I was born in Mexico City, and remained their for the rest of my life. I witnessed first hand what an economic boom can do. But this made the country even more corrupt, and the inequality became even more apparent. The rich constructed a large financial district, living in large glimmering towers in the center of the city, while the poor remained concentrated in dense slums forming a ring around the city. They were stuck working factory jobs with little protection and many risks, and in everyone of their faces you can see that they hate every minute of it. Most of Western and Eastern Europe had utterly collapsed, and all that was left was a disorganized wasteland. Maps don't depict countries their anymore, just vague lines of control and empty radioactive plains where people don't live anymore. The Soviet Union still exists, but the Communist Party devolved into a fascist political party. All that remains is Soviet symbolism. East Asia was precarious case, because it sustained its own wars and conflicts that grew out of the nuclear war. The Japanese government slowly collapsed, before falling into a military dictatorship. A massive war broke out on the Korean peninsula that left millions dead, and the People's Republic of China faced a political revolution which dismantled the Communist government and eventually led to the secession of Tibet. These countries are large customers of my countries resources, so I dealt with them on nearly a daily basis and had traveled to all of them. Without foreign aid, many countries in Africa faced waves of famines. But this came to their benefit, because out of the death and desperation that gripped their lands grew the opportunity to regrow their countries in the correct way. Many of them are emerging to become quite successful now, albeit under undemocratic dictatorships, and are able to protect themselves in the face of foreign powers who seek to exploit them like they used too. India was the only country that remained truly democratic, and it was able to come out of the global conflict with most of its cities intact. But this was a consequence of a Pakistani military leaders split-second moral decision to not respond to the nuclear attack, who thought that all of civilization would be lost if he retaliated. I remember learning that this country was very religious, and maybe this embedded a moral compass in the mind of this general. I can't help but think we need more of that now. India still suffered in a tangential way. They had murdered their neighbor, and cultural regret grips the entire nation now. The country is strong in every aspect except a lingering sense of pacifism growing out of guilt.

When I entered politics the military still had a strong grip on the government, but that period of unregulated and booming economic growth was coming to a close. People had become more politically organized and had formed trade factions, and new political parties which espoused ideologies that had never been seen before. I didn't bother adopting any ideology because I saw this as a waste of time. I ran independently and soon enough, I found myself between the collision of two political coalitions. Both sought power over the legislative, one coalition had many military officials in its ranks which sought to retain the decision-making power the military still maintained, while the other represented many trade bodies and regional governments which sought to deconstruct this state of affairs. Nearly every person in that chamber, situated deep underground in a bunker which was now normal protocol of nearly every government, was intelligent and sharp-minded. They realized that neither could win over the other, so they settled for compromise.

They elected me, the independent, to be speaker of the Chamber of Deputies. Political violence broke out when the President, who had been elected by the masses, began implementing policy to cordon off the military from influencing politics. The trade unions and political parties had the benefit of popular support, as the poorest were their constituencies, so they ultimately had the influence over the legislative branch. The only individuals who supported the military were those in the military itself and megacorporations which benefited from the policies they implemented. A squadron of elite soldiers had infiltrated his compound and brutally murdered both the President and the Vice-President, and many of the guards who were sworn to protect them. This left me in line to take the Office of President. I had gained the skills of speaking to crowds and navigating distorted webs of political influence through my political career. I knew I would be heading over a country that would be undergoing a period of political uncertainty, and I knew that this could give the people a reason to be unhappy and turn their back against the government. When this happened, it would be harder to maintain peace. So I had to ensure that belief in our system of government was maintained. I held Presidential elections eight months after I entered office. I was backed by many political parties who did not want to put forth their own candidate out of fear of having their leaders murdered, but I still had to face a military general who badly wanted the position of the executive and a candidate pushed forward by the trade unions. The generals of the military feared indictments for their crimes, and they knew that they could at least attain pardons if they had an ally in office. But no amount of money or guns could buy over the anger of the average impoverished voter. So I won by a wide margin. Emotions win politics, you must learn to play them correctly to fight.

I had high aspirations when I entered the office of President once again with the backing of the people. But this was all shattered by the brutal fist of reality. I wanted to reverse the growing inequality in Mexico, I wanted to avoid an enlarged political conflict and keep the country in a state of peace. We had an important position now that we could easily lose. We had grown to become the strongest country in our hemisphere, but we still had enemies to our North and South that vied for our position. If we began to become preoccupied with internal affairs, we would lose sight of what was important and fall from the grace of God. What challenged my vision the most was a group of provinces near the American border that had not benefited at all from Mexico's economic growth. America was closed off, no one was allowed to leave because otherwise a massive exodus would occur. Mexico's most northern provinces had many poor Americans that were stuck in limbo, speaking English and resenting the world around them. The governments of these provinces quickly created a gerrymandering system on their own accord out of fear that the Americans would seize control over the provincial governments and threaten the local native populations. This only put them in a more disadvantaged position, lengthening their suffering and cultivating their resentment. It was only a matter of time before they began organizing in a violent manner. Somewhere along the way, the political factions they had formed that could not find political representation anywhere made the decision to begin waging an insurgency. I strongly suspect that the American government, insecure of its weakened position, was providing weapons to these rebels to try and encourage a civil war within Mexico. The violence was becoming so intense that I had no choice but to order the military to stand down and agree to a ceasefire. Some of the generals immediately protested this, but others decided to follow my orders forcing others to capitulate.

I find it stunning that the state of affairs of this country could become so fragile so quickly. The minute people's sense of identity are involved in politics, the minute everybody becomes motivated by the emotion of anger. And this kills any chance of negotiating settlements. Out of their anger, they don't want to feel weak. The military reacted on its own accord by implementing marshal law in every province bordering America, and began hunting down the insurgents wherever they could. They began throwing every piece of military hardware at this insurgency, but could not seem to make any progress. The insurgents themselves were fractured among many factions who each had different ideologies and aspirations, but somehow were able to sustain themselves in the face of an entire military.

In another front, I faced resistance from Mexico's oil corporations. After growing to become the largest oil company in the world, PEMEX had been dissolved into four separate corporations after the Supreme Court deemed it to be a monopoly. One of these oil companies sought to consolidate another, but this was being blocked by the Supreme Court. A new judge was to be nominated soon, whose economic philosophy could change the direction of this case. These company executives wanted to win over my support. Likewise, the second largest industry in Mexico had become the steel and manufacturing industries. They had formed powerful lobbies that would stop to no avail to push forward policies that benefited them. This often meant the prevention of a creation of minimum wage, or regulations to protect workers safety. They were very self-centered, and never bothered to consider the needs of the people below them. Sometimes I wondered if they were so insulated in their shiny, sterile and clean towers that they didn't even know that poverty existed everywhere else. Other times, I just figured that they didn't have the capacity to feel empathy. I could never find a good explanation for it.

One night I was summoned to a meeting with a group of powerful investors, and these were the kinds of meetings that I could never ignore even if I wanted too. Although it wasn't stipulated in law that I had to meet with these people, a list of unwritten but understood rules existed that mandated that I must. The consequences for not following these rules were immense. These types of meetings were always behind closed doors, and never visible to the public. My diplomats and myself were transported in a heavily armed convoy, sitting behind layers of steel and armor with enough weapons guarding us to level a city block. But as we traveled through the city, I could feel the resentment arising around us. Some areas of the city had devolved into looting and violence as political unrest had culminated in riots. This is where the most radical elements of the country reared its head, brandishing red flags and calling for a dramatic economic reform.

When I reached my destination, I was transported to a conference room situated almost a mile in the sky. Sitting just above us was the largest communication mast in the country, sending thousands of television signals and telephone communications across the country. Before me lay investors in oil, steel and the booming industry of micro-electronics. They informed me that they had shareholders to keep satisfied, and that if these satisfactions were not met, economic troubles lay ahead. I quickly learned that they were giving me an ultimatum, and not seeking to negotiate with me on economic policy.

One of the guards in the room but a rifle to my head, stopping me in the middle of my sentence. I guess they were bored with me lecturing them about economics, and wanted to cut to the chase. Shouting in aggressive Spanish, a man with the rank of a colonel ordered one of his men to bring in a radio into the room. Before me, a military-grade transistor radio was placed and tuned to the frequency through which generals communicated. At first I had difficulty discerning what was happening. There was shouting, along with abrupt interference, filling the radio-space. I soon could make out the sound of gunshots through the radio, and in the distance soft thumps began filling my ears. The General in the room informed me that, with the funding of a few business men who feared potential government regulations, a section of the officer corps had decided to take matters into their own hands and 'reestablish the temporary military government.' They were to form an emergency committee that would act as the legislative and executive body, with final say in judicial decisions, and wanted me to give them verbal support.

I remained silent. I wouldn't say anything out of a mixture of fear and shock. They transported me to another room with a group of soldiers who kept watch over me. This wasn't like the last time the military overthrew the government. This was messy, and poorly put together. The officer corps was engaged in infighting with other parts of the military, and I could feel the thump of tank fire and bombing reverberating through the superstructure of the building I was now trapped in. I now had a choice laid before me, to either take heed to their wants and be given an opportunity to live, or be killed.

I hobbled across the cafeteria towards the country to get my lunch. Today they were serving extra rations provided by the military, with a carton of almost spoiled milk to drink. The kitchen was situated to the side of the cafeteria, built into the wall like a cave on a mountain side. The glow of fluorescent light bulbs fizzled out into the dark cafeteria, which would otherwise be completely dark save for a little light provided by small windows far above. I made my way past a crowd of people towards the counter, desperate for something to eat.

The whole room was filled with the stench of old food and kids who hadn't showered in days. Above me, a dangling fluorescent light flickered. The government didn't care to pay anyone to repair broken light fixtures or plumbing for a school of lost orphans like ours. The decayed state of this place was a constant reminder of the value society had placed in us, reminding us that we were to be cast aside as soon as the government was done doing its bare minimum to educate us.

"Joseee!" a girl obnoxiously yelled as I walked towards the table. She was always so awkward around me and it was incredibly annoying. I tried to mask how much she bothered me but sometimes others could distinguish that her awful attempts to flirt agitated me.

Next to me, a few of my friends talked about the football match in Caracas. The Russian team had been on a long winning streak, and were set to win the world cup again, but it was killed by the skilled defenders of the Filipino team. But I couldn't care today because a teacher this morning had killed my mood.

"José, what's up?" Asked Emannuel, a very popular but unfortunately very insecure kid. He made himself feel better by being humorous, and compensated for his insecurities through seeking attention. It made people like being around him, but his motivation for socialization originated from a place of sadness.

"Nothing, you?" I responded, taking a swig of milk.

"Oh, nothing much. I don't have much going on," he responded. I knew he had something he wanted to talk about because I could see a look of excitement in his face.

They made really shitty milk now, it was pasteurized artificially in these massive plants a hundred miles outside of the city. The Russians had used biological weapons to target American agriculture during the war, and spread a potent virus that decimated the cow population. The dairy industry had no choice but to invent an artificial process. It was really disgusting. They grew masses of fat in these large vats, which was then ground into fine particles before being mixed with water.

I remember seeing pictures in history class of cows piled on-top of each-other, creating hills of these dead cows. Government employees who gathered the cows in these spots had to wear gas masks and full body suits to protect themselves from the stench of decaying flesh. They had nowhere else to put them so they just created mass graves. According to the history texts, the population of cows and chickens actually used to outnumber the global population of people.

My mind snapped back to the conversation. "You really have nothing going on?" I asked Emmanuel, prying at his need to talk.

"Really, if I'm going to be honest, I do. You remember that girl I had been talking with? Well, last night, we were talking over the communication line. I asked her if she wanted to hang out and she came over to my ... " I'll spare you the details because you get the idea. Emmanuel likes to talk a lot about things he can't get. I guess he's at least an imaginative person.

"That's great, Emmanuel." I said as he trailed off. Sometimes he bothered me, but I tried to be a paitent person and let him talk. Patience is supposed to be a virtue, after all.

Another kid chimed in, who took note of my mood.

"What's bothering you José? You look all pissed off today." Marcos said.

"He's just tired of squinting all day." Emmanuel added, what a dick. My glasses were broken and I couldn't afford a new pair, so I had to squint sometimes to see far. It wasn't that big of a deal but Emmanuel liked making fun of people that he felt were better than him, and the only thing he could prod at was my eyesight and my leg.

I know why he felt the need to do that, he and others thought I was good with girls. The truth was, I just wasn't a dick to people. Or, I tried not to be. They spent so much time chasing after something they could get if they didn't place so much importance on it.

"That's not it, Emmanuel. My eyes are fine." I responded.

"Then why are you pissy?" Marcos insisted.

Well, that morning my teacher had given me a failing grade on an assignment that I had worked hard on. I didn't care about that class at all, but I had to write an essay on the government which I hated. It's hard to focus when the couple in the apartment next door can't stop fighting. And the bare pipes above me coursed with hot and cold water which sucked away my attention. I hated the government provided housing and I wanted nothing but to get out. It was an improvement from boarding school racks but it still sucked. I don't like having to walk around puddles of piss and arguments between drug dealers every morning. And having an asshole with a shitty attitude as a teacher didn't help my goal of getting out.

"It's nothing serious, I just got a bad grade in government. I'm fine, though." I said.

"Yeah, that teacher is a real bitch." Emmanuel stated.

"Don't stress so much about it. That shit doesn't matter. Your grades will be fine." Marcos said, who cared a little too much about football and a lot less about school.

"Why are you still worrying about your grades, José? You act like you'll be a fucking-" Emmanuel said.

"I don't know." I responded.

"Then shut the fuck up about it." Emmanuel added. I gladly will, Emmanuel. I didn't want to talk about it in the first place.

Maybe, though, I just wanted to be able to drink actual milk someday. And I didn't want to have to swat roaches in my apartment. But forget about all of that.

The ring of a bell marking the end of lunch ended, and I headed to class. Next was mathematics, which was really intuitive so I didn't have to pay attention in that class.

Next to me sat Isabella, who I thought was actually good-looking and had a personality that I could enjoy being around. Her friends sat at our table with us, but only made small-talk with them, so I can't say much about them. During class we'd usually talk about gossip, and other people, occasionally stopping when a difficult lesson would come up.

Our teacher had clearly given up on life, because the most thoughtfulness he could muster for educating us was just lecturing for a little while. He ignored it when we talked or slept through the class, and even said that he didn't care about that. The district wasn't sending its finest to us. I honestly think they had just given up.

Isabella talked about some people who had been mad at her friend, and I honestly didn't care. I just knew to nod my head and listen, because for some reason people appreciated that a lot. I've been told again and again that I'm a good listener, when I didn't even listen.

"So I told him that he needs to relax, and try to let go of the situation. Like, if he wants to make things work, he can't be so angry all the time." She said. "Right?"

"Yeah." I responded.

"And I don't understand why she can't just stop flirting with other guys. Like, I know she thinks it isn't anything intimate, but he does. And I really just want them to be happy for each-other, but they can't be." Isabella said. She always seemed concerned about other people.

"I know," I said.

"It's just... I don't know, it's just a lot." Isabella said.

That was cool and all, but what captured my minds attention was the fight that was supposed to be happening tonight at a bar a few blocks away from our school. They regularly held kickboxing bouts, which had surged in popularity recently. A local fighter and somebody from another side of town were set to fight.

"Isabella," I asked.

"Yeah?" She responded.

"Do you want to go watch the fight tonight?" It wasn't a date or anything, but I don't like showing up to events like that by myself.

"The one at, at La Niebla?" She asked.

"Yeah." I responded.

"Is that the place where Lucas lost last year?" She asked. That was another story for another time.

"I think so," I said.

"I think I can go," she said. "Where do you want to meet up?"

"Near my apartment block?" I asked. "Does that work for you?"

"Yeah, sure." She said. It was kind of dangerous walking around alone but she should be fine since she lives near the school, and if anybody tried doing anything to her people would act to enforce some sort of a punishment. That way, we all stayed protected.

Class ended. Then I went phased through the rest of the day and headed home.

The buzz of clicking electrodes filled my room. A copy of the city newspaper printed onto my terminal through the telephone line. The green light of the cathode-ray tube screen illuminated my room while I prepared dinner. The flickering fuzzy letters read; '2001-10-14: Important Message from the Government of the Socialist Republic of Mexico.' The government distributed all of these stupid messages all the time, meant to keep people informed on updated laws or whatever else they think impacts them. I usually ignored them but that day I was bored, so I scanned the first paragraph.

Something about paratroopers landing on Cuban soil. They said on the television that it was going to be an easy fight, because the air force had been bombing the country for nearly two months. Much of the Cuban military was destroyed when they assaulted an American port on the Island when the war happened. They didn't have the ability to fight back. I didn't understand why the government was attacking them, because they were supposed to be comrades in ideology, but I guess they thought it would be an easy catch.

Noodles were really easy to prepare. You pulled a string, there was a muffled pop and a small puff of smoke came out of a ring of ventilation in the container. You then screwed open the metal canister, and your noodles were fresh and ready to eat. I ate dinner, before putting on my jacket and exiting my apartment. I entered my identification code into the keypad to exit the complex, and walked down the street.

The street was caked in sodium light. In the distance I could see Isabella's figure waiting for me near the Palestinian corner restaurant. The smell of Mediterranean food wafted down the street, and filled my nostrils. I know I had a stumble in my walk, but I walked with enough confidence to recover it. A city bus flew past, illuminating Isabella's face with the green light of its display which showed what street it was heading too.

The weather was dreary. A drizzle rained down. It was a little chilly, too. I immediately felt bad for making her wait out here for me, but I couldn't head over to her apartment. It wasn't safe for me

"How long have you been waiting out here?" I asked.

"Only for a minute," she said. I couldn't tell if she was lying, or if she just said that to make me feel better. Below the rising apartment blocks, we headed towards 'La Niebla' - the infamous bar that was holding tonight's fight. We walked under an overpass where passenger trains rushed through, the wind blowing our hair as they passed. Neon lights from shops dotting the sidewalk helped illuminate the path forward. Through the deepened smoggy atmosphere echoed the sound of sirens, and the screaming whir of electric sports cars racing through city blocks. Below the familiar rumbling of cargo trains passing through the vacuum-compressed military tunnels shook the foundations of the buildings around us as they sped through near the speed of sound.

Mexico City didn't seem to have a sense of order. With the overgrowth of the city, the municipal government had been spread thin and seemed to forget about petty crimes. They decided to prioritize on more important things, like tax collection or protecting important places. I always tried to keep a keen awareness of my surroundings, because I never knew which desperate crack-head would be next to try and jump me. I noticed some sketchy people on the way, but they didn't do anything but glance at us with contempt.

Refracting through a crack in my lenses, a neon purple light entered into my eye. A gambling casino was situated to our left, with a few stragglers scrounging for whatever money they could find outside. Past that, I could see the rising refineries branded with the inscription of an important oil corporation. Toxic fumes and fire spewed into the sky. This area marked the beginning of the industrial sector of the city, where refined oil entered compressed pipelines to travel to the Yucatan and Baja peninsula's before being exported to the world. In a dilapidated office high-rise sat a street-level door, otherwise inconspicuous save for a flickering fluorescent sign indicating its location. Around the door old coffee-cups and paper fluttered in the wind, and a few glass bottled rolled along with. The wall was tagged with various street gangs and a few posters for the fight were plastered nearby. We entered the door, stepping down into the basement to find ourselves in the bar.

Once we entered, our ears were met with a rush of noise. Holding Isabella's hand, I pushed forward. A tipsy person stumbled into me, and I tried pushing through the crowd towards the ring where the fight was to be held. I wandered around the bar with Isabella, and tried to avoid the stench of alcohol as people breathed onto me. The blue sound of drum machines and synthesizers reflected through the room as music played over old speakers. At first, I didn't pay attention to my surroundings. But the more I wandered through, the more I noticed the tension hanging over the air.

The establishment had set up a few slot machines over in the corner, near some booths where couple's and hooligans drank. Gambling was actually illegal in Mexico. It had been outlawed five years ago under a new Socialist program. But no one bothered to enforce it. I remember being told something about the evil's of money, how it corrupted men's minds and had the potential to suck all of the happiness out of them. They showed us videos of well off Americans or Western Europeans, from documentaries well before the war. Each video was formatted the same, with an American or French or German living in a happy home with a family before gradually reaching the end where the man no longer had a smile. Instead, it was replaced with a frown on his face, wrinkles, and sad, sunken eyes. All of the signs of age due to stress.

It actually looked a lot like those people outside of the gambling houses, I thought. Maybe the Socialists were actually onto something. But for all the evil money must possess, it really would have solved a lot of the problems I had. The government spent a lot of time demonizing the thing they hoard the most. That truth made you a very nihilistic person sometimes. Over by one of those gambling booths, an argument devolved into a fist fight. I didn't see how it ended as too many people crowded around to watch.

I know that people's emotions ran high over the identity they held for their particular part of the city they called home. I saw fighting over it all the time. At school, kids would fight over what city blocks they lived on. It seemed petty and stupid, but people clung to any identity they could find when they were desperate for a reason to live.

"This place is really messy," Isabella said.

"I know, their are a lot of people who don't care about cleaning up here." I responded.

"Do you come to this place a lot?" She asked.

"Not really, I don't like this place that much." I said. I liked to hang out at another place, somewhere that was a little safer.

"So... Where do you go to hang out?" She nudged.

I didn't know why she was engaging in awkward small talk but it wasn't going to be the end of the world. "Another place, near my apartment. I can show you the place sometime if you'd like."

"Will you really?" She asked.

"Yeah, of course." I said.

"So, who are you going to cheer for?" She asked.

"I'm not really cheering for anybody, but I've placed my bet on the fighter from Colombia." I said.

"Oh, with who?" She said.

"You know that one kid you take chemistry with?" I said. "The guy who never shaves?"

"Jose, that's a lot of people." Isabella responded.

"I know, but I can't remember his name." I explained.

"You can't remember the name of someone you made a bet with?" She asked.

"He's not really a friend, I just talked to him about the fight the other day." I said. "Errr, Raul. That's his name, Raul."

"Oh, he's an asshole." Isabella said.

"Yeah, I know. That's why I don't consider him a friend." I said.

The main fight was about to begin. Stepping under the ropes was Rigoberto Abellán, the champion of the hour. Born in Bagota, his family escaped to Mexico after political violence ripped through the city a few years before the war begun. They settled down in this neighborhood, the place that we all loved dearly. He humbly walked around the ring, chin up, looking at the audience like he was a commander observing his comrades before they stepped into battle. He greeted the referee, shaking his hand, and bowed. What a well-mannered fighter.

Next up was Miguel Xirau, the antagonist. He had a wide grin on his face, like he was better than everyone else and he knew it. He flexed his muscles, and shouted a roar to cheer himself for the fight. Miguel was from the other side of the sprawling city, a place that many people here resented for its opulence and success. Miguel prepared for the fight by stretching and shaking his limbs, acting as though he were getting ready to sprint the one-hundred meter.

The referee's rang the bell, and the fighters stepped forward. Rigoberto calmly moved on the balls of his feet, his left foot always in front of his right, approaching the enemy. Xirau meanwhile circled Rigoberto like a hawk, evading his approach and waiting for a moment to strike. Like a drunk entering an argument, Xirau aggressively throwing the first straight. Rigoberto responded by parrying with his hand-wrapped fists, and landing a rear-leg kick on Xirau's lower-ribs. Stunned, Xirau backed up to the ropes but stepped back into the fight with a more clever approach. Xirau landed a few jabs on Rigoberto, and blocked a return jab of his.

"They're really aggressive," Isabella said.

"Yeah." I agreed.

Studying the fighters, I noticed that Rigoberto was getting tired. He attempted to wear down his own opponent by staying near him consistently, but now that Xirau was doing most of the punching, Rigoberto was busy trying to protect his face. It looked like Xirau was a little better than Rigoberto. His technique wasn't as sketchy, but Rigoberto worked harder, I thought. He sustained hit after hit, and did not once back up.

Responding to the argument, Rigoberto counted with more rear-leg kicks. One after the other, they slammed into Xirau and nearly forced him off of his feet. Xirau was stunned again, and attempted to recoup the situation by clenching his hands around Rigoberto's neck. Rigoberto responded by doing the same to Xirau, and the clenching-battle began. I heard some rumors before the fight that Xirau had even traveled to Myanmar to train in Muay-Thai, so were that true, this would be an easy opportunity for him to knock the lights out of his opponent.

But Rigoberto landed a well-placed knee on Xirau's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Xirau tried doing the same to Rigoberto, but was too winded to land it properly. Just before it seemed like Rigoberto was going to break out of the clench-hold and destroy Xirau, the round ended and both fighters returned to their corners. Their coaches bitched at them, and Xirau's coaches rubbed ice over his body. The thirty-second break was almost over. The fighters mentally prepared themselves to return to the event.

This time, Xirau went head on into the brush. Rigoberto ducked under a hook, before landing one of his own. Xirau stayed quick on his feet, ready to take down his rival and put this puto in the right place. He was eager to protect his pride and show the audience his bravado. But Rigoberto remained steadfast in the face of Xirau's aggressive tactics, giving back everything that was given to him. Xirau tried seizing an opportunity to land a kick on Rigoberto's left leg, but the kick was shin-blocked and Xirau was now left limping. But he was still determined, landing a few more jabs on Rigo, leaving his nose bleeding. Drenched and sweat and blood, the fighters gave their last energy reserves towards winning. Adrenaline was rushing through their veins now, giving them one last boost before they collapsed from exhaustion.

[incomplete]

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