Runaway

Chapter 13

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~Uploaded February 11th, 2014

I could say that I slept peacefully, knowing that I was temporarily safe and had just made new friends in a nice little town. But I'd be lying. And this is one thing that I can't lie about.

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Another blow to the head. This one had hurt even more than the last and sent me staggering towards the edge of the ring, where my father stood stone-faced and glaring at me.

"GET UP!", he yelled, his face becoming even more menacing, and I flinched at his tone. I had heard that voice every single day for as long as I could remember, but I would never get used to it.

I pushed myself slowly to my feet, white spots dancing throughout my vision, and turned back around to face my opponent, a tall man in black striding towards me from the other end of the ring.

I hated fighting. I hated being in this ring for three hours at a time every other day when I'd rather be doing anything else. Well, almost anything. Everything except helping the head chef prepare his nasty surprises for us. But even that sounded more appealing, and less hazardous to my health, than this. Oh, who am I kidding? Nothing was more hazardous than that man's cooking.

I almost laughed at this thought but it distracted me enough for the man to land another punch. Right in my diaphragm. If I hadn't been contracting my stomach muscles, the air would've been knocked right out of my lungs. It only caused a small sting instead. Tears threatened to spill but I didn't let them. Every tear spilled on this floor would earn me another half hour of hand-to-hand combat, or of crawling through a minefield. Every drop of blood that wasn't my own would earn me five minutes less. I had ten minutes left in the ring. Just two more hits. Just two more.It was the only way to get out of this thing early. Or give him a knockout.

"HIT HIM, YOU USELESS PIECE OF FLESH! YOU CALL YOURSELF MY DAUGHTER?!" I didn't flinch at his tone this time. Instead, I felt myself heat up and start to shake. Something came out but it wasn't tears. It was anger, pure anger straight from the depths of hell itself.

He never called me his daughter unless he was mad at me, and I could already feel my knees aching from all that crawling I would have to do through that damned minefield. No, not today, I thought. I was angry too, and wished like there was no tomorrow that I could take it all out on him, kicking and punching him until he bled to death, but I would be thrown in The Pit if I did any such thing and would probably be executed. So instead, I directed the anger at my opponent, who barely had a scratch on him. That was about to change.

I let out a guttural yell, something that surprised him and all the other staff members that had decided to witness the fight, and charged. A good thing about being smaller than your opponent was that most of the time, you were faster too. I used that to my advantage.

I ran straight for him, then climbed up his leg, underneath his arm and hooked my arm around his thick neck. He was caught by surprise and lost his balance, falling to one knee before getting back up again and trying to shake me off his back. I felt like a cowboy at a rodeo and clenched my teeth together so I wouldn't bite my tongue off.

Still holding on with one arm, I stretched down with my leg and kicked him in the back of the knee as hard as I could manage. He grunted and fell forward. I brought my feet back up to his shoulders and pushed off of them, flipping in mid-air to land right in front of him. He was red with anger. Good, I thought. The anger would overwhelm his common sense. He charged straight for me but I didn't move. I planted my feet, keeping them lightly bent at the knees, and waited for the last possible moment to strike. Just as he descended upon me, I swung my fist upwards with all my might, straight underneath his jaw.