The Pit Fightee

“Get up!” My handler’s gruff hollering broke through the punch-drunk haze of my mind and everything came flooding back from there. The pain returned to my limbs. I felt it first in my extremities – a tingling coursing through to the rest of my body and refusing to settle.

Then there was the insistent cheering. When my vision finally cleared  I was staring at a low stone ceiling speckled with blaring orange lights. There came another command to get to my feet, this one motivated me enough to roll  onto my strapped chests and force myself onto my knees. Only then did I truly realize the extent of the poor state that I was in – I heaved, lungs straining, and hacked up blood onto the hard arena floor before me.

“Phoebe!”

I heard you, you bastard! Give me a goddamned second…I would have yelled it if I had the energy or could stop the fit I was having.

Right. It was time to move. I had a fight to win.

I made it to my feet, wiped my forearm across my split lip smearing a thin line of red across my pale skin. Or maybe I smeared my face with the red from my arm – it was hard to tell. Either way I noticed my sense of smell returning in force; the scent or iron overburdening. I turned to face my opposition, arms dangling as I watched him close in on his battered prey.

Too bad for him what didn’t kill me made me stronger.

~~~~~

Daily Prompt: Struggle

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