The Pit

The pit stinks of sweat and metal. It’s scarred by scrabbling boots and fingernails. Seia drops from the top step. Barefoot. She needs the grip. Her face is painted. Her knuckles are still blue from yesterday. 

The fighter wobbles on thin legs. Doesn’t eat enough. He snarls, and raises the club he hoped would give him an edge. Seia almost feels guilty when she kicks him in the knee. His leg bends wrong. He drops, sobbing, seeming dead.

Seia takes the bowl of rice that is her reward, eats it behind the fish market, and waits for the next round.