I watched his right shoulder drop along with his shifting center of gravity. He's telegraphing pretty loudly. He's actually opening by punching with his rear hand. Play it out. It's a greater distance, slower speed. Mirror his shift, match his forward movement, weave outside the strike, be patient, wait until your hook can get around to his back, free kidney shot.....
When something is ingrained into you, strings of thought happen as an impression and instantaneous understanding. Like a conversation that takes place so quickly it doesn't even register as having taken time. Just as you can look at a table and know everything about it without ever actually thinking the word “table”.
So was this true in violent situations where instincts and reactions translated into a narrative. Acting like your ghost they're able to assess the very fight you're in as if watching from a disembodied position. Adding clarity to what would normally be a chaotic situation.
Much as it did this day.
00:00:59
Through sheer luck alone I spotted the danger before they were ready to be dangerous. Coming off a set of pullups on the prison yard, my feet hit the ground and I caught their movement in my peripheral vision. Intuitive alarms sounding as two men within a three man group separated to move in opposite directions. I side eyed the man who remained, finding immediate eye contact as he'd already been looking at me. A moment that gave me more information than a Ted Talk.
“You’re in danger”, the ghost of my experiences whispered into my ear.
00:00:57
My vision goes soft-eyed as I focus on nothing, allowing me to more readily identify surrounding movements and sounds. Knees unlocked, body profiles while my stance ensures my center of gravity, weight shifting to the balls of my feets, limbs loose, core tight. My body responded as fluidly as an air bubble rising to the surface of a lake. A response so natural that only doing otherwise would've involve thought.
The man who'd held his ground watching me raised his chin barely a quarter of an inch. While a nearly imperceivable motion, he might as well have announced with a yell what was happening.
00:00:54
“Behind you”
00:00:53
I dash forward a step before planting my lead foot to spin in place. My body simultaneously contracting with bent knees, curving back, lowered shoulders and raising hands to make my torso and face as small and difficult of a target as possible. Move first, identify second, adjust in motion.
As I reposition, the attacker who'd aimed to sneak me enters my field of vision. He moves like a man interrupted while clumsily trying to decide on a new course of action. He switches from what appeared to have been a plan to grab me and squares up with a boxer's stance. He's thinking, I'm not. I don't have the luxury of paying attention to him exclusively. Move fast. I met him in the middle. Slipping outside his strike to get in close and dig deep with a clean counterstrike to his kidney.
“He's going to grab you” I whisper into my own ear again.
He didn't move to instinctively protect the organ I had just damaged. Instead he shifted his body to get into a position where he could get a hold of me. This was an unnatural response.
Alarms blaring: Escape! Move away! Get clear! Danger!
00:00:46
I dropped low and dove sideways away from him, tumbling across the ground to immediately regain my feet. In order to override a normal human being's reaction to my strike, he had to be driven by a preexisting intent. He's now tried twice to grab me. That had to be his role in this scheme going in. Yet that's a stupid thing to actually plan ahead of time when it's already three on one. It didn't make sense unless….
“One of the other two has a shank,” my ghost chuckled as he warned me.
00:00:41
Everything changed as if the very biology of my body responded to this realization. I am no longer fighting these men but rather aiming to survive them. Fists became open hands, planted front and rear feet for striking shift to a wider side-by-side stance for swift and evasive maneuverability, tauntly bent and forward facing arms for attacking opened up into a loose and extended positions better for deflection and redirection.
“You can't win” I taunted myself.
“Shut up, I know what I'm doing”
“You could run”
“You gotta be joking.”
“Yeah, I really am. You're fucking fucked.”
00:00:39
I had all three of them in my field of vision now but that wasn't nearly as helpful as I'd have liked it to be. Taking punches and fighting through it was one thing, that was more often just a battle of attrition. However, a pair of guys whose sole purpose is to grab you for the half of a second it takes a third to run steel through you is a whole other matter.
This wasn't a movie, I'm not going to backflip out of this mess. Imagine the fastest and most evasive runner in the NFL and now picture how many times he gets wrapped up and tackled in every single game. That's why guys who can't fight try to wrestle. There's nothing easier than just grabbing someone.
There's also nothing more difficult than avoiding being grabbed.
00:00:36
I see the knife now. A narrow piece of plexiglass chipped and tapered into a one-time use point so sharp I probably won't even feel it pierce a hole into me. Where you may see something that's fragile and easily shattered, I recognized a weapon that was going to be intentionally broken off once it's inside my gut.
I heard yelling in the distance. Aggressive and demanding. Originating not only from behind me but also from above. One of the gun tower guards had spotted us. His authority meant nothing in this moment, however I did hear him.
“Don't leave anything in the tank” my ghost advised.
Taking the initiative I moved first.
No sense in pacing ourselves now. There's only two ways this is going to end and end very soon; with cuffs or with blood. Both of which were racing towards me full sprint. Never thought I'd be depending on the guards' response time.
00:00:33
They rushed me all at once to match my movement, the way they should have in the first place. Everyone knew our time was limited now as the man-down alarms sounded all around us. I moved towards the man to my left. I had no chance at backpedaling to safety and I knew at least one of them could outrun me. My only way out was through. My only chance was in the crush.
The other two changed course to intercept me yet I got to my destination before they did. The man before me lunged as I hooked his outside arm and shoulder to redirect his momentum towards his pair of partners human shield style. I then rammed my own shoulder into his back, causing him to stumble forward into them. He didn't actually crash into them but it forced them to sidestep in order to get out of his way.
That's one extra step of life I didn't have a moment earlier.
00:00:27
In an attempt to keep a body between myself and the knife man, I kept pace while circling. Trying to force them into a single file line rather than lined up. Dancing, deflecting and dodging. It bought me time. I was making them work and happy to steal every second I could get.
00:00:13
One of my assailants broke off in response to the guards racing across the yard while I continued to avoid the remaining two. The armed one then found an opportunity and lunged forward. Closing the short distance between us faster than I would've guessed he could. His eyes fixed on the center of my torso.
Exhale.
“Do you want me to do this?”, the ghost asked, I could hear the fucking smile in his tone.
“Oh, I get to choose now?”
“No.”
Everything all at once.
Adrenaline, adrenaline, adrenaline….
00:00:11
He didn't expect me to rush him. I attacked the weapon, not the man. That's my God Damn shank. The one who'd ran away had changed the entire layout of this fight. I actually had a chance here.
I cut my arm on the razor sharp plexiglass edge while latching onto his wrist, yet the wound was superficial at best. Stiff arms, lock the elbows, shoulders forward and in, make him commit his weight to the push. Maintain angles. Don't allow him to recenter the blade.
It was all footwork and weight distribution now. I allowed him to move me rather than risk the stiff arm wrist lock. His partner was repeatedly striking me in the head and face. It didn't matter. I can take anything he's got in the time left to us. He can't crack bone. I take several swift hits to the area around my eye socket, it's blurring my vision however that doesn't matter either. I’ve got the knife man, I can feel where he is and what his body is doing.
As we struggle for control of the knife I feel the tension ease so slightly. He's trying to reposition himself for a fresh rush.
“Gotcha”
00:00:06
Taking full advantage of the moment, I released my grip. The half-second it took him to realign was more than I needed. Raising the knife to stab me like a predictable good boy.
My left hand, having never actually lost contact with him, followed his knife hand from underneath, the side of my wrist pushing up on his from below in a swift motion. Simultaneously, my opposite forearm was coming down to connect between his upper and lower arm, right at the bend. The combination of upward and downward grappling movements forced his arm to bend at the elbow. My upward moving hand hooked then to grip his wrist again in order to control its movement while my other hand reached around to grab my arm. Completing the arm lock. Changing the target of the knife he was holding from me to him.
At the exact same time I drove my lead foot past his leg to hooked my heel behind his. Preventing him from being able to backpedal. Causing him to stumble ever so slightly and fall backwards as he attempted to retreat.
00:00:05
Locked together I follow him down to the ground. While he may still be the one holding the knife, I now control not only his arm but the momentum as well.
Its my fucking shank.
His own survival instincts must have recognized where our trajectory was taking us as he released his hold on the blade. Allowing it to fall away mere moments before he hit the ground. Less than a second before my full falling weight drove his now empty fist into his breastbone where his collar bones met.
00:00:03
“Where's the blood?” I wondered
“He let go of the knife”, the ghost answered
“Whatever.”
00:00:02
Before he could even commit to the several minutes of choking that impact had caused, we were grabbed by a group of guards and violently separated. I was still watching him as I offered no resistance to being dragged aside and cuffed.
00:00:00
They barked at us demanding to know who's knife was on the ground. I simply didn't speak as I heard one of the other guys respond “it ain't mine” over and over again. He talked too much, quit being dramatic.
Later while being processed for the Hole I was questioned again by the Shift Sargent. I told him I didn't know, I never saw anyone with a knife. My bandaged arm wasn't lost on him. We both understood I wasn't about to help them figure this out. Ultimately, they weren't really able to pin anything on anyone other than fighting. We all did our time in solitary and moved on.
A couple of weeks later, the knife man was walking into the laundry for his work assignment. I watched him pass from where I stood unseen next to the long row of industrial sized dryers. Where I had been waiting.
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
00:00:59
Seems like my 'ghost' was always saying things like "You just started something you can't finish. Again." or "Here it comes. This is really gonna hurt."
Not a particularly useful guy now that I think about it.
Love the ending. Payback’s a MFer.