Survival of the Fit By Mongoose750 A woman martial arts instructor shows a fellow instructor who the tough one really is By Mongoose750 (mongoose750@yahoo.com ) It was another day as usual at the Flying Tigers dojo in the center of town. Their teacher, Matt Flatt was leading his students through their usual paces. "You must be strong, you must be tough! Survival belongs to the fittest!" He said as he led the class in performing straight punches. Like a mantra, the class repeated the quotes over and over. The school had a Darwinian philosophy concerning the fighting arts and life in general. The right to walk and rule the streets belonged to the strong, while victims were weak, almost deserving of their fate. Matt promised each class he taught that they would be fit, and able to survive the "urban jungle" that was the outside. He continued to say it's not about honor or any of that "fortune cookie crap," it's about being the last person standing, their blood on the victor's fists. This philosophy alone got him in hot water with other martial arts teachers, but his general response was to "suck it up," claiming there were no rules in the jungle, and going so far to boast if the whole city was attacked by hostile forces, his school would come out on top. The class finished their kata when the front door opened and a woman strode in. She kept moving and didn't stop until she reached the center of the mat. The woman stood 5'8", and was big. She had broad shoulders, large arms, and thick calves. Her long black hair was put up in a bow, the hairstyle placing more emphasis on the serious expression on her face. She wore a black tank top unitard with short legs, and a silk silver slash tied around her waist. She walked in from outside barefoot, and did not bother to wipe her feet before walking on the mat. Large dusty footprints could be seen as they led to the middle of the dojo. "Are you Sensei Flatt?" The woman asked with a slight Russian accent. Matt regarded her. He stood six feet with short light brown hair and a slender fit build. "Yeah, I'm he; who are you?" He barked, motioning his class to sit down. "I am Natasha, sensei of the Self Defense Institute on Fifth and Main," she answered. "I see," he replied, with not a little scorn on his face. "So why are you here?" "I am here to demand an apology, from either you or one of your students. One of your men came to a student of mine spouting your philosophy, and when she disagreed, he attacked her. Gave her a black eye." Matt displayed a sly grin. "Maybe you should have taught her better against attacks like that." "You misunderstood me. I said he attacked her and gave her a black eye. I did not say she didn't retaliate." She looked over his students and pointed. "See, he's the one favoring his arm. He may need to get it checked so there's no serious damage; from what she told me, she nearly twisted it off. Regardless, I either need an apology from him or you on behalf of the school for this behavior." Matt looked over his students, especially the one in question who attacked Natasha's pupil. He was indeed favoring his arm, and he did notice something funny about the way he was throwing his punches. He might've received more damage than what a simple arm twist could deliver. However, he still managed to make it in for practice, so that was something. "That arm will need medical attention, Kyle," Matt began. "Besides that, stand strong, stand tough." "Yes teacher," Kyle replied, bowing. "What is this?" Natasha exploded. "One of your students assault mine, and all you can do is compliment him on the fact that he made it in with a damaged arm?" "Did your student practice today?" Matt asked. "Of course she did, that's how I found out about this incident." "Then she's tough and strong as well, though I had my doubts." "What do you mean by that?" "I've heard about your school, and your talk about empowering the female, body awareness of yourself whatever your size, and all that other new age crap you rattle off over there. What does that have to do with fighting?" "Quite a bit when you tell people they don't have to be Xena to defend themselves, and that's self defense, not fighting. I don't teach students to be thugs." Matt gave Natasha another look, starting from the top of her head down to her red-painted toenails. "Frankly, I can't see you teaching anything, except how not to miss a meal," he remarked. A few students snickered. The woman instructor mentally counted to ten, then replied, "Oh, I'm in excellent shape, make no mistake." "Uh huh." "Look, I didn't come here to debate my school, my ideology, or my shape to you. In fact, you can do whatever you want in your school. Just give me my apology, and I'll be on my way." Matt took a few steps away from Natasha. "Whatever I want, eh? Jared, attack!" "Attack? What-" Natasha began, but a sudden movement from the corner of her eye caused her to turn around to parry a straight punch. Her attacker was a 6'2" blond man who kept her busy with chain punches. Natasha backed up, blocking, parrying, or avoiding the punches, until she stepped forward to deliver a massive right forearm to the man's chest. At the same time, she tangled her right foot with his left leg. The blow alone was enough to knock him down, but the trip speeded him on his way. Many of the surprised students who were in his way did what came naturally when a large mass came their way - they moved. A few brave souls who either tried to catch him or too slow to move out of his way broke his fall. "Melissa, attack!" Matt barked. A woman about 5'4" with long blond hair leapt into action firing kicks. They came in high and low, peppered with a few punches. As Natasha moved and ducked, she remembered the word of advice she was taught regarding kicks: most kicks have one foot off the ground, leaving the other to handle all the weight and balance. This was especially true with "high-flyers," for while they're in the air, there's no balance at all. Melissa delivered a flying side kick, and Natasha responded by stepping aside, snatching the lead leg, and suddenly twisted it. Melissa landed on the mat face first, and Natasha insured she would do no more flying with a painful standing leg lock. A hand clamped on Natasha's shoulder, and without looking, she grabbed that hand with one of her own and twisted. She pulled her would-be assailant by the painful leash in front of her. Taking a quick glance at him, Natasha reasoned it must be the woman's boyfriend, coming to her rescue. She continued to pull the hand, and the man - a red-haired man about the same size as Melissa - had no choice but to follow. Directing the hand toward the ground, the man descended slowly to his knees beside Melissa, who was still caught in the leg lock. It was then that Natasha let them go, both rubbing their sore leg and wrist, respectively. Natasha assumed there was another attack coming, and she wasn't wrong. She thought she heard Matt cry, "John, attack!" in the background while she released her holds. Without warning, she spun and delivered a left backfist to her attacker, a man of Indian decent with the same build as her. The backfist struck him on the jaw, knocking him out. This time, he landed too fast and too hard for anyone to catch as he hit the mat. "Mack, attack!" Matt ordered, and a 6'4" man emerged, sporting black hair and a handlebar mustache, reminding Natasha of a villain from one of those late-night westerns. Even though he had Natasha beat in the size department, he approached her tentatively. The big woman had trashed four of his classmates with little effort in about a minute, so she demanded special attention. He paused, and then charged at her. He delivered two punches, which she treated with two high blocks; then while his arms were upraised, she struck with dual knife hand blows under each armpit. Mack was prepared to deliver a smashing blow when he realized he couldn't move his arms. He looked at Natasha with a wide-mouthed shocked expression on his face. Natasha just smirked and sent him down with a simple leg sweep. "Enough of the preliminaries!" She roared. "I demand an apology, and I demand one now!" "Oh, I have your apology right here!" He said as he launched into an attack. He was fast with his attack, but so was Natasha. Unlike facing his students, she had no plans on being gentle. She blocked the first two straight punches, and reading his body language, she saw a kick coming. She wasn't disappointed. Matt threw an angry kick that Natasha plucked out of the air. She locked her hands over his instep, applying pressure to the foot, threatening to break his ankle. She stepped forward and kicked his remaining leg from under him. As he fell on his stomach, Natasha leaped on his back, ensnaring one leg in a leg scissors while applying a rear naked choke. "You want to know the name of what I practice? Fine, I will tell you," Natasha told Matt as he gurgled for air. "A few years ago, eight martial arts masters representing eight disciplines got together and combined their techniques to create one integrated art. It is called The Eight, and it is composed of aikido, judo, hapikdo, ninitsu, tai chi, kuai chiao, wrestling, and sumo." Natasha tightened her choke a little more, and Matt was out. She rose to her feet, and looked down at him. "Apology accepted," she said. She scanned the dojo, and saw nothing but silent faces, some in shock from seeing their invincible instructor downed. When she didn't receive another challenge, she turned and headed for the door. Before she touched the door, she turned and pointed at a handsome black man of athletic build and the same height as she. "You, come with me," she said. The man was not sure what to do, but he felt he needed to at least show his loyalty. "My place is with my teacher," he said. "I destroyed your teacher. What good is his ‘survival of the fittest' philosophy if he is not ‘fit?' Grab your things and come with me." The room was silent as he grabbed his gym bag and left the dojo. "Madam teacher, I would like to learn what you know," a brown haired woman said. "I want to go also," a short man with a stout build said. "Me too," a thin black woman added. "More students, that's always nice," Natasha remarked. When she left, she wasn't planning on taking anything other than an apology and that man she eyed when she entered the place. "Very well; get your things and follow me." Natasha held the door open for her new students. As she closed the door, she said to the class, "When your instructor is revived, you may see if he changed his mind on what if takes to be fit." And then she closed the door and left. For comments, suggestions, or story ideas, send email to shrewsberry@juno.com. ©2009, Barefoot Heroines, Inc.