Room 63

   Room 63, 8th Floor that’s where he was.

A series of footsteps resounded the corridor as they grew closer to that particular room. Suddenly they stopped and a pair of eyes looked upon the crew members that now stood with their heads pointing towards the nitid marbled floor.

She’d forgotten her glasses, spilt the hot coffee on her shirt, and sweat now percolated her perturbed face as if she’d climbed her way up.

“Where is he?” she asked Jim.

“He’s been asked to take rest, we can’t disturb him right now”, Jim said, “He has takentoo many hits this time, I couldn’t see him bleed further”, tears rolled out of his eyes.

“He better be asleep!”, she pushed the room’s door open and granted him with her presence.

He lay there quietly, keeping his eyes closed, matching his breaths to the beeping of the machines that surrounded the bed, the only indications of his heartbeat, his existence.

Out of the thin air her hand was held, firmly gripped by another. She felt his rough palm glaze her wrist, as she struggled to let lose of it. Though his bruised face was a brutal sight, In the blink of an eye she turned towards him and smacked him on his cheek. Then lost control of herself and hugged him as if it were the last time she was going to.

           Brooks of tears left her eyes against her will, her boyfriend lay with his eyes closed in a hospital bed. She couldn’t let him fight professional anymore. Enough of his blood has been shed and she could no longer bear to see more of it getting spilt. The word ‘MMA’ grew a potent blaze in her mind now.