He heard the roar of the crowd watching the fight. a smirk spread on his face when he saw his opponent show his weakness. He quickly put a blow square on his chest, grabbed the back of his neck then smashed his head into his knee.
the crowd cheered at his victory.
he could feel the blood running from his nose, and he could feel the stink of all the scratched to his skin.
"106" he whispered under breath.
he walked away, pulling his hoodie back on, covering his scar covered body. he kept on saying 106.
"why do you do that?"
he felt a tug on his shirt and he looked down at a young boy, who couldn't be older than 12.
"do what?" he asked lighting a cancer stick.
"whisper some number after you win a fight ?" the young boy asked.
"cause it's that's the amount of days and fights I've been in since she died."
YOU ARE READING
Punching Bags
Short StoryHe was supposed to save her, just like she was supposed to save him. Book 2 Kayse the Savior| 2016
