The Back Alley
The alley was icy and poorly lit, making it almost impossible to see anything. With his eyes fixed on his broken phone screen, Theo, a scrawny 14-year-old, huddled against the rough brick wall while a fight replayed for what seemed like the hundredth time. The quick, deliberate movements of the fighters—hooks, jabs, and the smooth transitions between grappling stances—captivated him. Theo saw them as lessons rather than just moves. He read the choreography with ease; every little change in weight spoke loudly. He was aware of every counterattack and attack. Nevertheless, he knew that without strength, the knowledge ingrained in his mind was meaningless. He lacked strength and experience, two things that made a fighter formidable. He slipped his phone back into his pocket, trying to hide his anxious anticipation, as though he were waiting for something important to happen. Sitting on the cold, dirty asphalt had left his pants wet and soiled brown.
Even for those with potential, the city pulsed with an unrelenting rhythm of violence that showed no mercy. Gangs prowled like wolves, thieves barely made it through the night, and murders and turf wars were frequent occurrences. Theo was seated at the alley's corner, surrounded by broken shadows from neon signs. Despite giving him a quick glance, onlookers continued to move on, too cautious to stop. The gangs owned this section of town. Theo had a straightforward but dangerous reason for being there: he wanted to see a real fight, a street brawl that would take place in front of him. After months of staking out, he was prepared for the rumors that gang fights were drawing blood in this alley.
He was shocked when his phone vibrated. He looked at it; his mother was calling, probably concerned that he would sneak out in the middle of the night. His eyes darted to the alley's entrance as two men strolled in, and he swiftly silenced it. They appeared to be mapping out trouble with the tattoos on their faces. Theo's heart raced as one man approached another pair farther down. He moved behind an old pallet stack and looked through the slats.
"No! Why must we repeat this experience?" Kicking a dented can, the man in the dark brown suit yelled. He appeared enraged, angry at the scrawny figure next to him. Theo assumed this man was the boss.
"There is nothing we can do, boss. They will believe we are planning an attack on them if we don't," the smaller man answered with a trembling voice. He stood stiff, a bundle of nerves.
"Why is it always us, damn it? Some of our men are still unable to walk at all." The third man took the blow without flinching as the boss barked and backhanded him. Instinctively, Theo started to crawl away as he felt the tension rise.
"So, the South Port warehouse is where it's happening?" The boss mumbled, his voice low enough to be heard in the silent alley.
"Yes, we must arrive at precisely nine o'clock. We need to strike first," the smaller man whispered.
The crunch of something beneath Theo's hand broke the silence as he shifted backward. The air froze as the can clattered directly in front of him.
"What is this?" The men narrowed their eyes and turned toward the noise. With his heart in his throat, Theo stumbled to his feet.
As the realization dawned on Theo, his heart began to race. I'm going to be killed. I overheard. His blood ran cold as the three of them fixed him with piercing, threatening looks.
"I got to go. Bye!" His instinctive movement propelled him out of the alley. The men's cries followed him, resonating menacingly. His heart pounded as he swerved around piles of boxes, almost knocking them over.
"Think you can run, kid? Hear things that aren't appropriate for you?" With a cruel soundtrack of laughter, the men followed. Theo continued running, taking every opportunity to lose them without pausing to check their proximity.
Theo felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as he turned the corner and collided with the wall. He gritted his teeth, despite the pain of the shock. As his lungs struggled against the cold air, he breathed rough. Keep going. I have to go. The sight of the men's homicidal gazes made him get over his fear.
Every shadow felt like a potential threat as he ran down narrow alleys, his heart pounding in his ears. His breath came in ragged gasps as he took sharp turns, barely avoiding piles of crates and trash bags. His pursuers' fainter laughter continued to taunt him, like a nightmare.
Finally, he heard the faint hum of neon lights above him and dashed into a quieter street. In order to blend in, he forced himself to walk slowly and unsteadily. He attempted to control his breathing, but his chest heaves. Nearly there. A little farther. He caught a glimpse of the familiar cracked windows of an old gym, and for a brief moment, the sound of fists hitting pads inside restored his sense of normalcy.
He began to jog to the gym; his labored breathing slowed as he leaned against the gym's hard brick wall; he glanced quickly to his left to see if the men were still after him; as an older man went by, Theo's mind went into overdrive, saying, "Oh god, stop shaking, you are going to give it away, he might be one of them." The man did not seem to be one of the gangsters, so he waited for a few minutes to calm down before beginning to jog slowly, attempting to avoid drawing attention to himself, as if he were running from something.
As he turned onto his street, fatigue weighed heavily on his legs. All he felt after the adrenaline wore off was a dull ache. When he saw the small, run-down house at the end of the block, he sped up, fighting the urge to faint.
He glanced back as he got to the front door to check if anyone was pursuing him. He leaped into the house and leaned against the door to catch his breath.
Back to Reality
After catching a break, he quickly ran to his bedroom to hide his dirty clothes, knowing his mom might have found out what he was doing.
"Theodore! Why did you leave so late?" The sound of his mother's voice struck him hard. His mother tried to pull the door open, but the knob shook.
"Hold on, Mom! I'm changing." After taking off his filthy clothes and putting them in his closet, he put on some shorts and opened the door. At least he was safe, but the fight was far from over.
His mother hurried in, her eyes glaring at him, as Theo unlocked the door, and it swung open violently. A hole seemed to form through his head.
"Why did you sneak out like that, and what were you thinking? Are you aware of what might have happened to you?" She crossed her arms and yelled, staring down at him.
Theo started to fiddle with his fingers as his nervousness nearly overcame him. "I apologize, Mom. All I needed was some air, and I didn't realize the time."
Her eyes remained piercing, but her face softened a little. "Theodore, you do this all the time. You will end up in serious trouble one day." She noticed the cut on his arm that he hadn't previously noticed, as well as the perspiration still clinging to his brow. "Are you wounded?"
Theo hastily said, "No, it's nothing," pulling his sleeve down to conceal the scratch. More questions were the last thing he needed.
As the anger subsided into worry, she sighed and shook her head. "Just swear that you won't repeat this."
"I promise," he said in a whisper.
With a trembling breath, Theo closed his door softly, attempting to break off the conversation. Leaning against it, he allowed the adrenaline to run out. His heart continued to pound uncontrollably, but now it was because he realized the men had seen his face. He was a witness, as well as a random child.
To check if anyone was following him home, he went to his window and peered out. He was more alarmed by the city's neon lights, which warned him to avoid the streets at night.
He looked at the old gym across the street once more. He could still hear its soft, steady thudding. Fighters were training fearlessly there, becoming more powerful. Theo knew that he had to be more than a spectator. He was eliminated from the game after making one mistake. He needed to start training, not just studying the moves on his phone but actually trying them out if he wanted to survive in this city.
The image of the men laughing reminded him that he was now a part of the story, not merely an observer of the violence going on around him.
And fighting back was the only way out.
Notice
-New Chapter Every Sunday.-
-Next Chapter Will Be Longer.-
-Comment If You Have Any Ideas On What I Can Add.-