Hey everybody! Yeah, it HAS been a long time since my last post. And it will most likely be a long time until my NEXT post but until then, here is a short story called Boxing Day to keep you occupied.
enjoy
Boxing Day
by Mike Shorten
Lights shone down hotly on the ring. Drunk men threw garbage and insults down into the ring where Randall fought.
Crap, Randall thought to himself, leaning back against rough ropes marking the makeshift ring. Blood poured into his mouth from his gashed forehead and broken nose. He sat on a small, beat-up wooden stool, no shirt and old tattered jeans. Bruises and contusions marked his hardened tan body and he continuously brushed shaggy, sweaty brown hair from his eyes with hands wrapped tightly in cloth. The knuckles under the cloth bulged out, brass knuckles hidden beneath the many layers.
Randall felt exhausted. He had been going for three rounds as hard as he could, landing almost every punch he threw and dodging or blocking most of his opponent’s throws. He was a good boxer, easily better than his opponent. No, that wasn’t the problem—the problem was when his opponent landed anything it felt like Randall was like getting a blow from a sledgehammer. He knew that at least a couple of his ribs were broken. Randall felt a towel slapped onto his shoulder and he used it to wipe blood and sweat from his face.“He’s kickin’ your ass, boyo!” yelled his brother Paul from behind. Paul had reached over the ropes and was massaging Randall’s shoulders encouragingly. “Get back in there and start landing some damn punches! You’re fast, but you can’t last forever. He can.” Randall stood up and started bouncing, trying to keep his blood flowing, his heart speeding. He turned toward Paul, raising his right hand in a gesture. Paul saw it and, faking offense, offered it right back. Then he smiled and yelled in encouragement, ”Go get you some robot!” and went back down to lean against the raised floor of the ring, watching intently.
Randall turned back to the center of the ring and began staring down his opponent. A literal barrel chest shone brightly though the dents where Randall’s brass-knuckled fists had pounded into it, trying to smash through to the machinery inside. Long, skinny metal arms ended in pads meant to keep the robot from outright murdering any human opponent it fought, though the padding actually offered little relief from the hammer blows it delivered. Skinny metal legs stuck out awkwardly from the bottom of the barrel, and the head looked like a metal ball welded to the top. The robot’s blinking red eyes were set half an inch back into the head, to keep them from being smashed. The robot’s machine voice emanated through metal grating three inches below the beady eyes.
The robot sat in the corner opposite Randall’s, its handlers working quickly through an open panel in its chest, oiling and adjusting quickly before a bell could sound the beginning of the next round. The only movement from the robot was its head slowly rotating, following Randall as he danced around the ring. Finally the robot had had enough and pushed the mechanics working in its chest away and snapped the chest cavity shut with a clang. Then the robot stood. Though its voice box was dented, it was still able to speak.
“If you survive this you will regret it.” It said mechanically to Randall. Randall ignored the robot and kept dancing around the ring. Though the pain in his side still ached horribly, Randall could feel a second wind coming on. Power coursed through his body as he imagined the coming round; how he would punch, dodge, dance, punch. He pictured the robot falling broken to the ground.
Suddenly the ring bell rang and Randall snapped his focus at his opponent. Randall wasn’t the only one who had taken a beating. Despite what Paul had said, he could see the robot wasn’t moving quite as well as it had when the fight started. Maybe the feet weren’t moving quite in sync. The left arm twitched every few seconds. Randall allowed a smile to pull at his lips before moving in.
The robot attacked first, a quick snap at Randalls head that Randall dodged. Randall returned fire with a few jabs of his own, trying to feel his opponent out. The robot blocked the first two but wasn’t quite fast enough to catch the third. It landed full on in the robots face, snapping it’s head briefly back. Randall took the opening and threw several heavy body blows, knocking the robot off back.
The robot replied with a flurry of blows at Randall, warding him off. None landed but Randall still danced away. He went in again and jabbed quickly, three successive stabs at the robots face. Once again the robot caught the first two but missed the third, falling back as the blow landed on the side of its head. Once again it warded Randall off with wildly thrown punches but before Randall could take advantage of the robots instability.
Rob danced around his opponent, taking his time with light jabs, taunting the increasingly frustrated robot. He was filled with elation and barely felt the pain in his side. Randall thought he had discovered a pattern. The three jab combo to the robots head had shown it. The robots programming caught the first two but wasn’t quick enough to catch the third. He must have damaged the circuitry.
With a sudden decisiveness Randall lowered his head and raised his fists, stalking slowly towards his opponent. At the ringside Paul noticed the sudden determined look on Randalls face, the look he had seen a hundred times; Randall was going in for the kill.
“No! Stay back!” Paul yelled desperately. “Stay back, wear him out!”
Randall didn’t appear to have noticed, or was more likely ignoring Paul. Paul swore loudly. His brother had always been headstrong, ignoring Paul’s more cautious advice. This blind confidence in himself usually worked out alright for Randall but Paul had a bad feeling about this time. He too had noticed the robots supposed failings with the three jab combo but suspected it was a trap to bait Randall into coming closer where his speed would count for nothing against the robots superior strength.
The robot was backed in a corner and Randall had just reached it. He dodged a few of the robots swings and then opened with the three jab combo, smashing his fist into the robots head at the third punch like before. Again the robot seemed to go off balance and Randall moved closer to land some heavier roundhouse punches to the robots mid-section, hoping to bust the machinery inside completely.
As Randall got in close, the robot leapt forward and hugged its arms around Randalls body and whirled around throwing Randall into the corner heavily. Randall slammed into the ring post and struggled to keep himself up, grabbing the ropes for support. Paul screamed at him to get out of the corner. Randall felt woozy, his head had hit the post behind him and the broken ribs had begun to sear with pain, sapping Randalls strength and will. He looked up through a haze of pain and sweat towards the robot right as a heavy padded fist slammed into his face.
Paul watched as his brother was pummeled mercilessly by the dented robot. As he watched, his mind rebelled against what he was seeing, his brother being killed, and turned to other things.
Paul thought of how they had been as kids, Paul always trying to guide Randall, teach him things, keep him safe. Randall always trying to run faster than his legs would carry him, fight the biggest boys in the playground, ignore Paul’s advice and do what he wanted. How Paul had trained Randall as a boxer, traveling around the country, taking any fight offered them. Then the war had come. The invading army had used robots to crush Americas armies and bring the country to its knees. After the war was over, the occupiers had integrated robots into society. Robots had been everywhere and it was only a matter of time before someone wondered if a human could stand up against a robot in a fight. Boxing robots had been built and had quickly dominated their human counterparts.
Randall had seen the robotic dominance of boxing and had felt it was his duty to be the first human to beat a machine, to stand up for the country he had been a part of. He and Paul had met with several underground promoters and set up tonight’s fight.
A ringing bell marking the end of the round pulled Paul from his memories. The robot had pulled away from the beating it had administered to Randall, blood dripping from its fists as the machine went back to its corner. Paul leapt into the ring and ran to Randall. Randalls face was smashed into a bloody pulp, his chest had odd lumps to it. Paul cringed as he noticed a small white edifice of bone protruding from Randalls ribs.
Paul grabbed a sponge from the water bucket on the edge of the ring and started dabbing at Randalls face. His brother didn’t respond and appeared to be unconscious.
“I’m stopping the fight, hold in there buddy.” Paul whispered gently. After propping Randall up on stool, Paul turned to the center of the ring and whipped the bloody towel he had been carrying on his shoulder into the center of the ring signifying Randalls withdrawal from the match. When he did this, he noticed a brightening of the robots eyes and heard a sound of disgust emanate from its voice box. Paul glared furiously at the robot for several seconds and then turned back to his brother.
By this time a paramedic had reached Randall and Paul helped the man strap his brother to a stretcher and retreat back through the jeering crowd into dimly lit locker rooms.
Paul stood next to his brother and watched as the paramedic worked on Randall. An hour later the paramedic had finished his work and instructed Paul on how to care for Randall and departed. Paul sat with his brother lost in thought. He was remembering what he and Randall had talked about right before the fight.
“There’s still time to back out.”He had said as he finished wrapping the brass knuckles to Randall’s fists. “We could still grab our stuff and bail through the back door.”
Randall had sighed and looked at Paul with exasperation. They had been through this a dozen times before but Paul had felt he needed to try one more time to dissuade Randall.
“Nobody has ever won a match with a robot! I know your good but you’re not that good. I trained you and I know you’re limitations. And this is the point where you need to just… back down.”Paul had said.
Randall turned away and started bouncing on the balls of his feet, loosening up.
“You still don’t understand why I’m doing this bro.” Randall had replied without turning around. “I’m not doing it to prove anything to myself. I’m doing it to make a point. I’m doing it because someone has to stand up to the robots and what they represent.”
“And what do they represent?”Paul replied skeptically.
“They represent America’s defeat! Every single time a robot puts another fighter out of commission it’s the invaders boot in our countries face!” Randall said calmly. “I’m standing up for an idea that THEY are trying to mash out of me.”
Suddenly Randall stirred and pulled Paul out of his thoughts. Paul stood and walked over to the table where Randall lay.
“Hey buddy. You alive in there?” Paul said lamely.
His brother nodded ever so slightly. His entire torso and head were wrapped in bandages, only his eyes showing. A cast protected his broken right arm. Numbing liquid flowed through a needle stuck into the vein in his left arm. Randall still wore the torn jeans he had worn through the fight but nothing else.
“I’ve called a taxi to take us back to the hotel.” Paul said.
Randall nodded again but a sad look had made his eyes droop. Paul thought he understood. Randall was feeling defeated; the ideals he had fought for were now, in Randalls mind, as beaten and defeated as Randall himself was.
As he looked at his defeated brother, Paul had an idea. He hurried over to the duffle bag he had brought and stored in a locker. Rifling through it he found what he was looking for. After pocketing the object, Paul went over to Randall.
“I’ve got some stuff I’ve got to take care of before we head out. The taxi should be here in fifteen minutes. I’ll be back before then.” He said. Before he finished talking Randall fell asleep exhausted.
Paul wrote a note and hurried out into a hallway and found a porter. He handed him some bills and told him to make sure the man in the locker room got to the Richards Hotel and to give the note to Reed, the hotel manager. Paul promised him another wad of bills when the man was brought to the hotel. The porter nodded. Paul went back into the room with Randall.
He scribbled a note and put it in Randall jeans and then stood watching his brother sleep for several minutes quietly.
“I’ll see you around bro.” He whispered and then left the room quickly.
Randall woke several days later in his hotel room bed. His bandages were clean and fresh. Sun streamed in from an open window illuminating the small but clean room. A duffel bag sat in one corner but the room was otherwise empty. Randall looked at the clock on his nightstand and saw a piece of paper with his name on it leaning against the clock. Underneath was a copy of that day’s news paper.
Randall reached over and picked up the note. On it was a message from Paul.
-Randall
I’ve paid the bill for your room for the next week, if you need anything, just ask Reed. He’ll take care of you. I’ve gone to finish what you’ve started. If I’m not dead then I’ll be in a prison somewhere. Thanks for standing up for what you believe in.
-Paul
Randall was confused by the letter. What had Paul done? He reached over and grabbed the newspaper that had been sitting under the note. The glaring front page headline made him catch his breath.
DRIVE-BY SHOOTING AT CLUB LEAVES SEVERAL ROBOTS DEAD
The End.
