13.
Smiling like a happy child, Clive disappeared into a crowd of people. I stood there by myself. I stood there with my black hoodie jacket on, my hood over my head and my hands in my pockets. I prayed under my breath. I was not a religious woman, but I prayed.
The mood was insane. Besides the people in the bleachers, there were people on the sides, there were people behind me and there were people everywhere.
I took my right hand from my hoodie pocket. I slid it down until it touched my knives. I felt both of them there, I caressed them. I wondered how many people's throat I could slit before I was shot down by the gunmen. My hands still upon my knives, the lights in the gutted out barn built for fighting and death shut off quickly. Spotlights turned on, highlighting the bloodstained killing floor. The crowd became quiet. The loose menacing people left and went to their seats. It was time. It was finally time for me to put my skills to the test. With the crowd's disappearance, Clive and Barrett finally emerged. Both of them were by my side. We were finally waiting. I was waiting. I took a deep, deep breath and exhaled. The announcer finally began to speak.
It was an odd static sound that I tried to grasp. Right hand relieved from my knives, I placed my hands into the pockets of my hoodie and pushed them down. The world became a deafening and dulling place. I took my right hand and brushed it through my poufy shorthair. Both Clive and Barrett pushed me toward the doors of the chain-link fence. I listened to the announcer as he called out.
"And in this corner, weighing 230 pounds, 5 foot eight, I give you, the beautiful, Big Bertha!" As she walked out, the parody of Michael Jackson's Bad, which was weird Al Yankovic's I'm Fat was playing in the background. Bertha was very good about keeping her step with the beat.
She was big indeed. And the crowd's roaring cheer seemed even bigger. Bertha had short curly red hair and a freckled beaten face. The sheer height of her sent fear down my spine. I swallowed hard as I watched her slowly enter the floor. The crowd was on fire. She lifted her fists to her face and began to punch the air. She was there to beat my ass and nothing more.
I swallowed my fear like it was the biggest pill I ever took. The song I picked out began to play. It played exactly where I told Clive to cut and edit it. I knew that was my cue. With my hands still in my pockets and my hoodie over my head, the boys at the gate of the chain-link fence slowly opened the doors and I casually walked in with my mouth open and in awe.
I heard the announcer as he screamed out the words, "And in this corner weighing in at 120 pounds, a tiny 5 foot two, we have the Switchblade Mama."
The crowd roared like rabid dogs. The sound was piercing to my ears. My mind was crowded with fear and lacking strategy. As I entered the killing floor, I stubbed my foot causing myself to almost trip. The crowd flaring with laughter. Great, I thought to myself. It was definitely a good way to show off my macho side.
Big Bertha towered over me like the Empire State building. As I eyeballed her I felt the fear. I removed my jacket and tossed it on the killing floor. I revealed my slender but cut arms. I placed myself in a battle position and admired the leather cuffs that embraced my wrists. I tried to ready myself for the fight. Bertha was big and covering me in her shadow. I took one last look behind me, at Clive and Barrett, hoping that I would see Paige, but she was not there. I swallowed my disappointments, and pointed my necessary anger at Bertha. Holding everything, I held and waited. When the announcer finally said "fight," I bolted for Bertha.
It was a massacre as soon as I met her arm's length. Bertha connected her right fist with the left side of my face and put me down in an instant. I tumbled down like a sack of potatoes. It was expected, but unexpected. I was on the ground and I pushed myself up with my arms, but she was there in an instant. She wrapped both of her hands around my face and lifted me up off the ground like a ragdoll. She had strength and she was crushing my head.
I had no other choice. With the pressure of her strength squeezing my head like an orange, I maneuvered my hands and placed my thumbs over her eyes. I had seen it done many times before in movies. My thumbs depressed themselves into her eye sockets. Bertha let out a loud bellow and dropped me upon the killing floor.
I was small and she was big. As I lay with my back to the floor, Bertha standing proud and dominant over me, I threw a low blow and laid a punch directly to her crotch. It hit her right on the button. Just as I wished, the blow had landed on her clit. Falling to the ground and grasping her crotch, Bertha became disoriented. I was on her like a virus. With Bertha on the ground, I straddled her. Fiercely punching with my iron fists, I landed as many blows as I could to her face. Bertha, with one hand grabbed my fist in midair and pulled it away. With her other hand, she cupped my face with her palm. I felt her nails digging into my skin. I felt her nails pulling off my skin. Her nails dug into my skin from the top left of my forehead, digging into my eye and passing my nose. I felt the pain as her nails slithered downward. Stopping my fighting combination, she threw me off with no hesitation. My face was covered in blood. My left eye was blind.
I became pissed. I could no longer see out of my left eye. I couldn't tell if it was just from the blood, or if she completely removed it. Either way, I had enough of the bull shit. I rose up and took my stance. Both fists up and ready. Bertha charged and shot out and I dodged. Bertha shot again and I connected it and met my fist with hers. I heard cracking noises, and she let out a loud screech. I knew I had broken her fist. Dismantled, Bertha continued with the assault.
I had implants, I had the power. My left eye was out of commission, but I knew I still had a fight. Bertha was cradling her fist that I had damaged. She did not think that my 5 foot 2 stature could do any harm her. She stood there in the defense position. I smiled. I backed up from her. I gave myself plenty of space. I let myself beseech a mighty roar and I lunged myself after her. I took a great leap and grappled myself upon her upper body. My hands wrapped themselves behind the back of her head. I looked her directly into her eyes and I bashed my head into hers over and over again. She wailed trying to throw me off, but to no avail, she finally succumbed to my beatings. My head was bloodied from the bashing. Bertha finally fell to her knees. In the midst of the crowds holler, I heard a whistle blow. I knew it was cue for me to back off. Satisfied that I did not have to use my knives, I released my deathlike grip from Bertha's neck. I slowly raised myself and walked away from her. Bertha stood on her knees. She stood like a halfway cut tree, trembling in the wind ready to fall over. I could feel the assault rifles upon me. With my hands up in the surrender position, I slowly walked up to Bertha. I raised my hand and placed it upon her forehead. I pushed her to the ground.
I wasn't too far off. I felt lightheaded. I could see nothing but the blaring lights blinding my eyes. I could hear nothing but screaming people and cheers. I raised my hands and did a full circle. I could take no more. I fell to my knees and laid next to Big Bertha.
Bertha was out commission, and being so tired and wounded, I laid beside her and whispered into her ear. "What is your real name?"
With a soft struggling voice she replied. "Sarah Waters. And thank you for not killing me."
Why would she thank me? Had she seen terrible things? Had she seen fights were people showed no mercy and just killed? I hoped that I would never have to deal with that. I knew though, that the time would come.
I was gone. I was wasted. I heard the announcer say, the Switchblade Mama, but I was faded. I was tore up and beaten. I lay by the brutal and defeated Bertha. My eyes so close to her blue. I was out of it, and like a dream, I drifted away.
The Switchblade Mamma Page 12