Origin

Chapter 8- "It's a force field around the house!"

I pulled myself from the bed, staring at the wall as moonlight turned into daylight–bright and beautiful blinding me and tiring my sleepless eyes. Fuck you, sunlight for telling me I have to start another day!

I got dressed, needing a pair of socks. I battled with the perfect oak dresser, fiddling, jiggling and pulling but it would not open. The hinge broke and I angrily threw it across the room. I breathed suddenly changing my mind and leaped out the window to say fuck it, hell of a day to go barefoot. No shoes, no socks being free today!

Oh, I knew where I needed to go.

"Whoa whoa where is the fire? And where are your shoes and what's with your hair?"

I glared at Nick. "Are you the fashion police or a concerned mother? Why don't you mind your business." I didn't comb my hair so it was a flat mess and I made a failed attempt at a bun. He could look elsewhere. No one judged his torn cargo shorts or unwashed hair.

He huffed. "I guess someone didn't have their porridge this morning."

I moved past him, heading down the fighting ring. It was not hard to find you could smell the stench of blood, sweat, piss and shit. When you are knocked out cold and dead, there is no control of the bowels so I understood. I wasn't going to run away.

"I need a minute." He needs a minute. He needs a minute.

A minute is sixty seconds. I wish I had done sixty seconds without that conversation and locked those memories away to never think about. Stupid fucking men.

"Hey girl! Get out of the center!" The guy to my far left with a microphone said.

Girl?! Who do you think you are talking to?

I raced over to him, grabbing the microphone and kicking him off the ledge he stood on, gaining the audience's attention. I patted the microphone, hearing the screech ring in the air. I laughed suddenly. "I'm an outsider and I'm calling anyone who has a set of ovaries to go against me in the center, right now. You want to partner up to help your life expectancy be my guest. It won't make a difference." I dropped the mic, scanning the crowd daring each challenger to move.

I smiled happily making my way to center field as the audience grew louder screaming profanities, cheers and saying "Fight!" I reached my hands up to the sky stretching as a tall mountain man twice my size came from my right taking his best shot. His movements were slow and predictable, his balance unsteady. I dodged his attack, grabbing his wrist, pulling it to his back and kicking the back of his foot. As he fell on his back, I held onto Adam's apple. I couldn't help but to smile as he squirmed like a worm frozen in place.

"Do you want to die or tap out?"

He reached out to tap on the dirt, pleading with his green eyes.

I released him, taking a step back. I scanned the field, happy to see three more challengers had taken his place. "I know you guys are studying me, but that wasn't my best stuff."

Two challengers charged together with carved wooden spears with blades at the end. They were beautifully made and looked light enough for me to handle without it interfering with more than two fighting styles. I breathed slowly watching their movements realizing they compliment each other. One was weaker on the left, which the other made for with a strong right. I disarmed the left handed fighter first targeting her right side then the right handed fighter was cake.

I kept the spear. I felt like it spoke to me and it felt right when I fought through forty soldiers with it. They had grit and stamina; the people started to cheer for me even. Instead of a battle, it became a party in the stands worth betting money on. I was no longer the outsider, by the twentieth person down my nickname became Hot Shot Blondie. I've had better but I wasn't horrible for who I was in comparison.