Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Flash Fiction Friday: Cycle 26

Unfair Fight

A Bo Fexler story

By Clair Dickson

Word List: Fist, Jab, Knuckle, Spirit, Fighter, Rhythm

Contains explicit language.

“All right you skinny ass bitch, you asked for it. Imma make you regret saying that shit.” She advanced on me, hands beckoning me closer. I may be blonde, but I'm not stupid. I try not to risk assault charges - or my PI license - on misunderstandings or overreactions. And this was both.

“I'm not here to start trouble.”

“Oh, you got trouble, skank!” She advanced towards me, weaving like a fighter should, but without any rhythm. She was nearly as tall as me, but heavier with broad shoulders and big hands. Hands with half a dozen rings on them. Her friend was similar in size and jewelry choice.

“This isn't a fair fight,” I noted.

She laughed, looking over her shoulder at her friend. “Guess you shoulda thought of that before, huh?”

“Perhaps. So, would it matter if I apologized?” I asked, stepping back, but turning my own hands into fists.

As expected, she responded with, “Imma make sure you learn not to say shit you can't back up.”

“Oh, I can back it up.”

She didn’t let me explain. She swung at me.

I easily knocked the jab aside. “Tonya, look, you don't want to do this,” I said sternly, stepping back again.

“Oh the hell I don't! I'm gonna enjoy given you a beat down.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” I stopped backing away, brought my fists to hip level, spread my feet and bent my knees.

She hesitated, uncertainty written plain across her face. The fiery spirit flickered, like a flame in the gust from a hastily closed door. She was wise to be cautious about my unusual response. But she put her angry face back on and declared, “Oh, bitch, you really asking for it now!” And she took another step closer.

I watched as she rotated her fists in front of her like a boxer in a movie. Then, I shot my fist through an opening and punched her in the face. I'd missed her nose and instead landed on her eye. The impact of my knuckles against her orbital socket fucking hurt. I brought up the other fist and, while she was still reeling, I landed a solid punch to her ample gut, knocking the wind out of her. She took a half step back before dropping to her ass. I finished with a solid kick to her thick skull.

She uttered one last strangled, “Bitch!”

“Correct.” I nodded at her friend, who, wisely, wanted nothing more to do with me. I took a photo from my pocket and tossed it into Tonya’s lap.

She took it up. Her face fell.

“So, you were wrong about me making shit up—your boyfriend is cheating on you. Well, since he was seeing her first, I guess he’s cheating on her with you. Anyway. You were also wrong about me being an easy opponent.”

She handed the photo to her friend.

There was nothing more to say. I left her with her mistakes.

END

7 comments:

Doc said...

Nicely done. You truly are a talented writer. Kudos!

Doc

Flannery Alden said...

Crisp descriptions of the fight scenes. Great work!

Ingrid Hardy said...

You made me flinch. And duck. I enjoyed the way it ended too...!

Beach Bum said...

I try not to risk assault charges - or my PI license - on misunderstandings or overreactions. And this was both.

I don't have a PI license but the statement is true, I do my best to avoid harsh misunderstandings but its hard sometimes. Great story!

Barbara Bruederlin said...

Her friend was similar in size and jewelry choice - I love this line. A knock out piece, congrats!

RegCPA5963 said...

I too liked the great descriptions of the fight scenes, including Bo readying her fighting stance. Dead on!

Joyce said...

Bob and weave..., bob and weave... If you hire a PI to find out the truth, you can't lash out at them for telling it to ya! Great story.