My coach grabbed my shoulders and held me back. He had anticipation in his grey eyes. His hair was slicked back with that nasty gel he got from the black market. His nose was a little larger than most people's, and not to mention his sharp, beady eyes. Yes, he was intimidating; I got over that long ago.
"Alright, Street Rat, you're fightin' priz number 495. Outta the dawg cages, that is. He a Rottie-Bull mix, and he ready to rip yo face off, Hun. Put on yo game face. You been a good jockey, Kid," Coach said with his usual gangster accent. He seemed off of it today. He lacked confidence, and concern was written on his forehead.
"You okay? You know I'll be fine. I was a street rat, remember? We the best there is," I said, as he relaxed a little.
"Tramps and ladies, coaches and fighters, welcome to tonight's show!" an announcer--his name is Parlon, I think-- boomed. Observers clapped wildly and hooted. Ol' drunk Thomas was laughing like crazy in the front row, taking a huge swig of his rum and vodka mix, then losing his balance. "We got three great shows for ya folks! Here now, we've got round one! In one corner, a crazy S.O.B., the phsyco of Philadelphia understreets. Folks, let me reintroduce you to our returning champion, Xavier Loco!" The crowd roared enthusiastically. Then, the craziest, most brutal man I've ever seen stepped on the ring.
He had giant muscles, most from overdosing on steroids. He banged on his chest maliciously, screaming out to the crowd. He was very dark skinned, and had no hair because he shaved it all off. His eyes were maroon, and full of bloodlust. He tore his shirt off, revealing tons of scars. I'll admit, he was scary. He stood at seven feet tall and probably over three hundred pounds. I felt bad for the poor sap that had to go against that.
"In the other corner, is the most blood hungry mutt I've ever seen! Weighing in at one hundred fifty pounds, a great dane and bull mastiff mix, let me introduce you to our challenger, Cujo!"
This might have been the most muscular dog I've ever laid eyes on. He weighed more than me, and he wasn't that big. But, dang, his muscles were bulging. His neck and jaw were strong, no doubt. He had long legs, easy to jump with. He had a dark grey coat with a mastiff face. They were holding him back with two steel collars, and the men were still struggling. Once again, the crowd went completely crazy.
"And let the match, BEGIN!"
The chains clicked off Cujo. He whipped his head, foam flying everywhere. Sometimes, I think he might have rabies. That would be a huge advantage. Xavier cracked his knuckles and neck, then motioned for the dog. He patted the ground, shaking the ring. "Here, boy."
Cujo bucked his head and charged at Xavier. Xavier ran towards him too. Their collision was magnificent. It happened so fast, but what I did see was disturbing. Xavier grabbed the dogs neck and slammed its head against the ground. It didn't whine at all, and instead, it growled and bit into Xavier's thigh. He fell to the ground as Cujo dug in deeper and shook his head all over. Blood was everywhere.
Xavier reached over to Cujo and dug his unnaturally long nails into his stomach. He howled wildly. Then Xavier got his revenge, biting into the dog's neck. Red covered them both, though neither seemed to notice. They went back and forth, biting and clawing. Until suddenly, Cujo got ahold of Xavier's jaw. He tore down, and you could here a pin drop as a loud crack filled the air. Everyone craned their necks to see what had happened.
Cujo stood up with a jaw in his. It was horrific to see Xavier wide eyes and would-have-been wide open mouth. No one made a noise, until Thomas howled and clapped. Then everyone joined in. Coach was speechless. His mouth shook. I looked over at other competitors. Most were emotionless, but some were in shock. One was crying. I wasn't sure what to think. "Coach, I don't feel near as confident now..." I muttered, watching the canine throw the jaw aside. Then, he did something I was so, so glad for. He starting eating the body.
Okay, maybe I should have worded that a little different. What I meant was that was an automatic disqualification. Everyone and thing that was training for the matches was reminded, "No over killing!". Even the animals were trained to only attack until the pulse was stopped. And this, this was an awesome example of an over kill.
Suddenly a gunshot sounded, and Cujo fell over on his side. The crowd cried out, in excitement and anger. I turned to Coach. "Nevermind."
-------------------------------
I stood in a defensive tone, my WOC in my hand. The mutt I was going against snarled fiercely. I kind of smiled to myself. This dog was obviously new, trying to appear as tough. But its eyes would flicker over to the audience every so often. He was nervous, scared even. I'd seen him practice. He tries for the neck, which is a terrible idea for even him. I was tall for a girl of fifteen years old. This dog doesn't have proper leg strength, nor does he have a chance at my legs. Coming from the streets, I knew my way around with a knife. And when they abducted me, Coach taught be gymnastics. I thought it was silly, but boy, does it help! I can flip over opponents, back handspring out of the way, and even the splits helped me win by tripping and face planting my competitor into my knife.
The dog howled, whistling my ears. He peaked at me, but I didn't flinch. This dog has another thing coming if he thinks winning is within his reach. I charged at him, and he did the same. I flipped over him, and he just sat there, in shock. I aimed my knife at his head, but stopped. I couldn't do it. He saw me with the knife, and let his head down. Surrender. The arena was dead silent. I dropped my knife. The dog looked up in surprise. I shook my head no. He then rolled on his back, the official surrender.
The crowd booed with disapproval. I knew that this meant starvation for three days for us both, but it was nothing. Ive gone a week with no food on the streets. It isn't that hard. And, of course, coach would be all over my act for letting go an easy win. But, there was something... Something about that dog that said, "I don't belong here."
I approache my coach. "Coach, I can expla-" Slap! I felt my cheek burn. I rubbed it and looked at him angrily.
"Ya best be explaining, girl! That damned dog was offerin' itself to ya! Ya coulda won, but instead, ya chose to make me the most humiliated coach there's ever was!"
"You're an ass, Coach! That dog don't belong here! It's a dog that needs a family, someone to care for it! Not death fights!" I screamed back, shoving him. He had an offended look on his face. He motioned to the guards. They snatched my arms, and I walked with my head held high to the starvation cage.
When I arrived there, I saw the opposite of what I expected. Instead of ugly, tattooed burly men, there were people my age, some younger, with fear in their eyes. I watched them as I walked by. They looked miserable.
I went into a cell and checked it out. It was basically the same as my old one. A small single bed with a sink and toilet. I heard laughter. I whipped my head in that direction.
Across from me in another cage was a muscular tan boy my age. He had a smirk on his face. His light green eyes looked into mine. He had shaggy black hair, but it wasn't greasy like many other's. He had on some old worn adidas shirt and odd pants I haven't seen before.
"Something funny?"
"You new to the starvation cage, aren't ya, sweet cheeks?" he laughed. I gripped the bars so hard my knuckles turned white.
"You shut your mouth, boy! I've gone weeks without food, it's no big deal," I remarked, my teeth gritted. This guy had some nerve calling me that.
"I can see you aren't very friendly. My name's Thomas." He extended his hand out the cage. I snatched it and yanked it hard. He made a small "oof" noise and slammed his face against the bars. I glared at him.
"Pleasure."
