#burninggod

Alice looked at the scrawny kid in the middle of the ring, he wasn’t short nor tall and held  no extreme muscle mass. He was however  quick, violent, throwing his every emotion into every hit he tried to dish out. But all of them bouncing off the other like rain did of glass  in old movies. His sloppy angry blows fueled by hunger and weakened by starvation, were no match for one who’d already beat the system. Been good enough to get a backer, taking half you’re winnings but making sure you got make shift care after and extra food before. Kids like him don’t last long, the ones who were soft, she knew of him. Knew he just lost his dad, knew he’d always had one before, seen his mother trading for the hardest whiskey Niguel had that day, and as much of it as she could get. They never last, they either find another method of earning around here, or die trying to make themselves a name here. She watched as he fell to the mat with a clunk, he didn’t have to many more options here than the second, unless puberty hit him like a brick before that, or the third option of starving or dying of dehydration came into play. Or, he was willing to play innocent or already was. That was the though that caused her to  stand up and hobble over despite the  pain between her legs and the bruise on her hip that had covered in the dark green cream that pulled the pain from it. “I’m Alice, fourteen,” she said gruffly reaching out a hand for him to shake. “You are? Besides bloody.”