A/N A penny for your thoughts? Any and all fight scenes will be written like that because they bore me to write and I'm not very good at them. Ask L.
Electricity coursed through my veins. My heart pounded at 100 miles per hour, I carefully observed and anticipated my opponents' next move.
Duck. Sidestep. Uppercut. Duck. Block. Roundhouse. And he's out.
My arm was forcefully thrust into the air as I stared into my opponents pale, round face. His shaggy blonde hair fell carelessly into his eyes, I watched in amusement as he slowly gained consciousness. His boss, an old, bald, fat man, angrily jerked him up into standing position. The man was of average height; he had a decent build and looked to weigh 150 tops.
No wonder he was such an easy opponent. Jeb, my boss, yanked down my left sleeve revealing my mark. A black pair of wings wrapped around my arm, to any normal person who saw it, it would mean nothing but to another fighter it would label me, I was a fighter, no I was Jeb's fighter. That made it all the more worthwhile, either they would assume I was one of the nobodies he trained at his elite training center, or they would recognize my authority and gladly take on the challenge.
The crowd cheered, their voices echoing off the metal walls that boxed in the illegal fight. "Jeb" I ground out, "I have literally ten minutes before the she-beast returns home." Jeb smile faltered before quickly lighting up his face again. "We'll make it in time Max." He assured me rushing to push us through the crowd of drunks, and druggies. His body guards following close behind.
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The doors slam open, screeching as they peel of the blood red paint off the convertible seated uncomfortably close to Jeb's jet-black van. Hastily, I clamber into the sleek leather seat, fumbling with the shinny fake-wooden buckle. The car takes a swift turn lurching me into one of the hulky body guards. I mutter a hushed apology as I attempt to tug on the rough fabric of sweats over my entirely to-tight spandex required by Jeb in order to fight.
The van lurches to shuttering stop, hurriedly I scramble out, over the guards. My feet hit the soiled cement with a thud; I take off at a dead sprint towards the homely, miniature, soiled house. I propel the door open with all my might, causing it to vociferously hit the wall indenting it. Letting a string of foul curse words flow from my mouth, I slam the door shut.
I stumble through the archway guiding me through the darkened hall. My hands cautiously graze the rough walls, my heart pounds aching to jump out of my chest as I finally arrive in my room. I rush to the windows tugging the ratty, tattered curtains open, letting the sliver of moon illuminate the minuscule room. I catch a glimpse of my face in the tiny mirror that lies pointlessly in the farthest corner. The moon bounces off revealing me. My face black and white as if it was an old movie, time slows as intensely stare at the girl in the mirror, her features relaxed, calm. For a split second I ponder how someone can look one way but feel another. All thoughts vanish as the sound of the front door being forced open and foots steps echo off the walls. Snapping out o f my haze I quickly and quietly clamber onto the thin mattress, feeling no comfort at all. Tightly I shut my eyes and await the loud clanging that's soon to follow, but there's nothing, nothing but an engine turning over and the tires against the pavement. Finally I let my shoulders fall limp, and sleep take over.
So thoughts, opinions? Should I continue?