BALLS

A Story by alan khan

no real point. i just felt like writing it.

"whatever you do for f**k's sake, do not knock him out."

"Go watch some more Snatch and get the f**k out of my corner."

Jumping up at the ring of the bell, leaving behind me the friends taken over by the green. I work my way across the canvas, quickly over, quickly over to Fink. Least that's what people say his name is. His head could almost be smaller than my fist. His carefully barbered head and wicked cool facial hair is wet with sweat. His twelve year old frame and twig sized legs make him only more pathetic.

The whole night, my corner's been telling me to lay down, let it go over, supposed to throw it. F**k em. This piece in front of me, throwing little kid shots, throws his weightless fists around for the cameras everytime some poor ball-less f**k throws himself down for him. Not me, this little sack of s**t could is through. I'll let him throw one more.

He throws his wirey left hook, like i thought he would. Dropping, i come up so quickly he only notices me next to him at the last second. The last second before my right straight catches him just between his jaw and neck. His head shakes and his eyes flicker. His arms drop quicker than he does. Hitting the canvas with a thud. I circle around, the vulture i am, ready to feast. The crowd is dead silent, one spare clap is heard echoing through the nasty gym. I stop as the ref waves his hands, "It's over." I shake my hands around a bit as i walk out the ring, my corner leaving the gym. They know what comes next.

In the locker room, he comes later than i thought they would. Leroy and his gold aviators, carefully afroed hair plucking out the sides of his white hat, sitting restlessly on his head. Tooth pick hanging out his lip ever so stupidly. "What happened there boy?"

"Oh well he threw a punch. and he's so strong i didnt want none of it."

"Your cute s**t ain't going to save you mother f****r."

"Hey man i aint takin no dive for no bullshit jive."

He leans forward, grasping my neck. his hands and fingers struggle. i breathe fine, "Yo rhymes aint gonna help you neither."

I rip his hand from around me, knocking him hard in the side of his head. "Don't put your hands on me. Keep your green, i dont give a s**t how much you lost. I aint on your payroll anymore. And i aint your shylock no more either."

"You a dead man mother f****r." I whip my heel against his chin. His soft bright skin. He's out. I pick up my bag, the wraps around my hand still on. I walk out the gym.

A car full of people follows close behing...