I hit the ground with a loud thud. The dirt smeared onto my clothes, hands, stuck to the warm blood running down the side of my face and my arms, and chilled me to the bone. I felt the cuts stinging in the cold and the dirt getting under my fingernails as I struggled to sit up. I felt the cuts on my knuckles, face and arms and I felt the blood and dirt clinging to them. I heard my heart screaming "FIGHT HARDER," my head throbbing, and my own cries of pain all at once. I saw the darkness inch closer, and I saw the mud and blood mixing on my shirt. I smelled the dirt and the cold and the blood; mostly I smelled my own fear and hatred. I stopped. For that moment, the world was frozen as I looked down at the dirt between my scratched and bloody knees, and knew it was hopeless.
So I stood back up.