One Last Time

She gripped the rim of the porcelain sink and tried to steady her hands.

"One last time," she whispered to herself. One. Last. Time.

She had spent her whole life fighting. It was all she had ever known. She was four years old when she had her first lesson. It wasn't something she had any choice in either. She came from a long line of fighters. Her destiny had been decided for her the day she was born.

But, now, she was tired … No, strike that, she was completely and utterly exhausted. The only reason she was still standing was because she was undefeated. You see, in her world, losers didn't get to just walk away. Oh, no, their fate was decided the moment they hit the ground.

She refused to go out like that. She would fight this one final fight, and then she was done. She was leaving. She knew it wouldn't be easy, people didn't just walk away. But, she had to try. She needed to live life on her own terms for once. If she died, then at least she would die free.

She looked at herself in the hazy mirror above the porcelain sink. She took a deep breath and nodded to herself. She could hear the chants coming from the stadium. It was time.

"Here we go. One last time …"