Hand gripped around the hilt of his sword; the metal
imprinted a lotus on his palm. Stumbling into the ring, the young boy shuffled
his feet into a fighting stance. Opposite him stood another boy. The first boy,
Jack, looked up into his opponent’s sneering eyes, knuckles whitening with
pressure.
I
chewed my lip, calculating the round’s length. The air was penetrated by the
referee’s whistle and before I could look away, Jack slumped to the floor, eyes
dull, a dagger nestled in his chest. Onlookers cheered and money exchanged
hands.
I
left, leaving my brother’s dagger in Jack’s ribs.
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