The Warrior

A story following a young man's journey from lawless street fighting to a shot at UFC stardom. He face numerous challenges along the way but he is determined to get to the top...

Beat that white boy's ass amigo!"

I grunt as I let another jab fly, forcefully exhaling breath as I feel the crunch of this punk's cheek bone on my fist. I smile not only at my friend's comment but also of the bewildered look on the boy's face. His eyes roll upwards before he falls on the dirt-covered floor with a thud. All hell breaks loose as the crowd roars with glee.

"We have a winner!!" I turn around and the short, stocky man with a white sleeveless shirt grabs my arm and raises up into the air. "The winner and undefeated champion of Arena de combate, Carlos "Rapido" Buenivista!" The crowd erupts in cheers again, as I make my way towards the locker rooms. I gaze back and forth at the crowd of people, snapping pictures of me with their cell phones and forwarding the fight videos they've recorded to their friends.

"Hombre santo de mierda! Holy crap man, you won again!" I chuckle as my friend Diego Sanchez continues his overly exaggerated glorification of my win. "Dude 25 seconds this time man! Couple lighting jabs and some great knees and that punk-ass white boy was on the ground!!"

"Hey Diego, wasn't that impressive," I say trying to calm him down. "There are plenty of fighters out there who are faster than me. GSP, Thiago Silva, BJ Penn..."

Diego shakes his head violently, his tilted cap almost falling off. "Man they good and all...but they don't have 26 and 0 under their belt do they?"

I open my mouth to argue but don't. As much of a dramatic Diego is he has a point. I haven’t been beaten in a fight ever since I came to Las Vegas. I use to be an underdog, a guy most people thought was some punk who thought he could make some dough off entering the street fighting league at the Arena de combate. However I proved them wrong. A couple of fights and championship bouts later I was the big guy, the champion of Street fighting Vegas.

Undefeated and dangerous, Diego's compliments only make me wonder if I could do well in the Octagon. But I know it's hopeful thinking. One I'm a street fighter; I have no experience what so ever in any actual forms of martial arts. I fight to survive, using stuff I picked up from my youth. A little bit of boxing, some kick boxing, Muay–tai and a little bit of wrestling from one year of high school. Second reason  the UFC is just a dream for me would be the costs. It costs hundreds even thousands of dollars to maintain a good UFC workout, with the equipment and coaches. Money I needed to support myself. Money I could never earn from street fighting alone.

As I sit down on the bench in the locker room, Diego’s voice becomes less and less audible. My thoughts drift onto my past, a turbulent one filled with its ups and downs. It all starts with my youth, a tender age of 5 years old when I lost my parents...

 

 

The End

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