Welcomed

Rhea

Most girls strived to be America's Next Top Model, or to hear they got into their favorite college, or whatever normal girls my age did.

And then there was me still sitting in shock as my name is broadcasted with the words "America's most wanted" underneath.

It was a bit of a stretch, but ever since I had taken things from that military base in San Diego everyone had known my name. It felt nice, knowing my ego was growing, but it also meant I had to be more careful than I ever had been. Of course I was always on high alert, either while watching street fights, or even buying my weapons off the black market.

I had to keep all of my belongings in a ratty backpack for travel while all of my other belongings were in the factory on 49th. Not much, but enough to call it home. No one knew that that is where I was staying and I was glad to keep it that way.

As my footsteps echoed in the empty ally I started making my way down to the small bread stand at the corner of the street near the New Corps building. I kept my head down as I stuffed my wrapped hands in the pocket of my worn out cotton trench coat. It wasn't much of a trench coat anymore because I had cut a good deal of fabric off of the bottom after I had received a gun wound from a gun crazed police trot. The wound had left me laying half conscious in an abandoned alleyway before someone found me.

I remember it was a small girl with bright blue eyes, who was skipping happily until she saw my disheveled body. She had looked about ready to scream, except I held a dirty finger to my lips as if to soothe her terror.

"It's okay." I remember mumbling to her. "Everything's okay."

Of course it wasn't, if it was there wouldn't be a bullet lodged into my thigh.

"M-m-i-iss are you okay?" The girl stuttered as she entered the alley way, her pink shoes getting soaked with the sewage water. "I'm okay kid." I said as I examined the girls face. Probably from Hollywood or somewhere, I had thought, or her dad was in the military.

Even though my father had served my family never got a penny. Who knew after you risk your life for your country they can't even produce a glass of clean water? They couldn't produce a drip for all that mattered.

The picture of me having my bandaged hands over my lips made me feel sick all over again.

I could still picture the blood dripping off of my bandages and the little girl staring at me as she attempted to find out what was wrong with me.

That was nearly a year ago now, and I had become much more cautious than ever. Every step I took outside the factory I made sure my wool cap was covering my wavy dark brown silky hair and a cheap pair of glasses hide my dark blue eyes. The only thing that deciphered me from all the other slums were my gold streaks in my deep irises. I looked exactly like a model would look like one of my male friends had said. With my high cheekbones and olive skin I would have been perfect.

Now a days my skin was never clear, and you could barely see a part of me that wasn't either bruised or scared in some way or another.

It was actually sad, walking into a bar and being swarmed by males searching for a love they will never receive. Of course I let them take me back to their luscious apartments and have them try to win me over with their amazing talents of sorts, but all I have in mind is going and providing for my family.

My family.

It physically hurt me when I thought of the word.

Of course I occasionally gazed over my old house, but only to deposit money, cloth, food or any other supplies I had recently collected.

Collected was the word that I used in place of stealing. I hated the thought of being called a robber or a thief, but in my three years on the streets I had learned to become accustomed to the name Fior with thief underneath.

I had heard some of my Circle members talking about the name Fior, and how it was a maze to figure it out. It really wasn't if you knew my history.

My great-grandfather had emigrated from Ireland to California for work in the mines and with it he met my Italian grandmother. I chose the word Fior for my street name because the word fíor in Irish meant genuine, and I clearly was a genuine character.

My head started to clear slightly as my worn rubber soles stopped making their usual noise as I entered soundless cement of the circle. I had my other resources for making money and that was street fighting.

At only age twelve had I found out about the Circle.

I was a gangly girl, small and thin with no meat on my bones. A boy who seemed about seventeen, Devin, had taken me into an alley and had asked me what I was doing at the fight. I remember I had replied in a stern voice, and even now I was surprised by my tone. I had told the boy I wanted to fight and that is what I did. It was against this beastly looking girl, probably twenty one or so and she looked about ready to rip me limb from limb. I knew I couldn't beat her with strength, but I had swiftness on my side. I had won thankfully, and had pocketed about two thousand notes.

The thing about the Circle is that you can bet on the fighters. If you bet the highest and the person you bet on wins, all the money is yours. If you are the fighter and everyone bets against you you can pocket the cash yourself.

So far in the Circle I was undefeated for three years. I had grown a good deal since then, and now I towered over most of my competition. My arms now were corded with muscle, as were my legs. I now won most matches on my swiftness, and against the naïve new comers.

This time though as I entered the crowds of the metal and cement circle I knew this fight would be different. I knew it as soon as I saw the beautiful boy standing in front of me.

•••

i have been procrastinating and thinking of this idea for a very long time so enjoy?

I can't think of a cover yet D:

So this one will have to do.

Please stay tuned guys I am actually really excited about this:) maybe I will post as regularly as TNP.