Fighter shortstorybash17 stories
  •   1 comment

ambitiousmusing An aspiring writer.
Autoplay OFF   •   4 years ago
Blood on his fists is all he needs.


by ambitiousmusing

His tongue slowly dragged along each sharp end of his teeth as he viciously smiled. His head was thrown back, and he stalked forward, dripping in a disgusting pride.

He was already caked in blood from previous fights. Clogging up his nose and dried to his skin.

It tasted of candy and ecstasy and stained his teeth the loveliest shade of red. Forever embedded between each tooth.

The snake in front of him was painted with the same arrogance.

It was difficult to tell who was more of a bastard. They stank too much of indecent acts that it all became one awful thing.

He raised his fists as him and the snake made it to the middle of the circle, formed by the people betting around them.

Now they joined the competition of who was the biggest bastard. Did their indecencies out show the fighters before them?

It was hard to tell with humans. It was all the same repugnant thing in the end.

They both were poised, ready for the killing. Who would kill who? Didn't matter, truly. They'd still be deadbeats in the end.

But the rush it would give him in the moment, to feel other places be freshly cut open on the sharp end of this snake’s fist, to feel the fresh blood trickle and spill down his knotted muscles.

He rolled his shoulders to dispel an excited shiver that wanted to run down his back.

He loved this. He loved this so damn much. He hated himself for it, too.

It was for food and rent, the money that came from this, he had promised himself. He wasn't a jerk who had pulled a sadistic joy from this. But what a damn liar he was.

To himself and all who knew him.

He tried to explain himself and pull himself from the image an illegal and underground fighting organization gave him. He failed every time.

Was he all too sure that upset him, though? That didn't matter either. What mattered was his own blood sitting on his tongue. A taste he shouldn't like, but was infatuated with it anyway.

Then the whistle blew and he was on the snake and the snake was on him. Nasty words were thrown just as hard as each punch.

Then a kick. More punches. More dodges and blocks. More swears. The blood. God yes, the blood.

His own and the other’s. He felt his knuckles split and ache and crack as his wrappings became useless, previous fights ruining them and the uncaring nature to fix it.

It was over too soon. He'd gained another cut on his lip and his face and more bruises than a person should endure.

The snake was knocked out, lifeless and limp on the ground. He'd be fine. They all knew it. The lack of worry was the true issue.

As soon as the snake had fallen, a roar erupted from the crowd.

His arm was raised in victory and it became even louder. He himself was screaming his throat raw.

A snarl stuck to his face. His pride now pouring and reeking.

This is what he wanted. The thrill he lived for. This was it.

Stories We Think You'll Love 💕

Get The App

App Store