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3 December 2005
SATURDAY
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[y/n]'s pov
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 my skull, as I felt the blood that poured from my forehead dry and crust around my eyes and down from my nose. I flicked my tongue across my scabbing lips, saliva stinging against the cut reopening.
My mouth turned sweet at my constant panting, mixing with the lingering scent of iron.
"You fuckers," I call out, voice hoarse.
Even against my odds, I kept my hands raised in fists, knees bent and feet planted.
Getting jumped wasn't ever on my list on what I wanted to deal with in a day, but being in a gang such as Toman, it was inevitable.
The group of seven boys soon became two, a few running off when they realised they didn't stand a chance against my underhanded skills and fast paced thinking. However, that didn't deter the two that were still in front of me.
One was now on the floor, glass shards piercing his flesh from the empty beer bottle I smashed against his shoulder.
The other one, who probably didn't look as great as me, either, still stood.
"Let up you bitch," the boy groaned, spitting out a heap of blood and mucus onto the pavement.
I release a huff, "you wish, you little shit," I taunt, using this small gap of time to recollect myself before having to throw another swing into his face.
The boy returned my sentiments, growling as he bent down to pick something up. My gaze hardened onto the metal rod that he now held, raising it up like a sword.
