I decided to post the very first part of it to this blog, since the 'Look inside' doesn't cover the text. Enjoy it:
The two women in karate suits enter
the empty, matted room and face each other. One of them is a beautiful black American
with a braided ponytail, short sized, and in her late thirties. Her opponent is
the same age, a white blonde with shoulder length hair. They stand and wait for
the signal. It will come in a minute. The prolongation is part of the gruesome show
they’re paid to deliver. Which is, to use their combat skills on each other in
the most destructive way possible. To murder the opponent. A fatality is
essential.
The blonde's name is Vanessa Dickson, she comes from England, and the last time she killed another woman a week ago - a tremendously long pause for this champ. She is 38, she scored her very first, a very quick, and a very clean kill at the age of fourteen, and she has killed hundreds of women ever since.
Her opponent's name is Samantha Stone. Sam is about as bloodthirsty as Vanessa, and she is just as skilled. She murdered many women on all sorts of underground arenas, and some of her opponents had to be gathered and carried out in garbage bags because of the way Sam took their lives.
In hand-to-hand combat her thing is to destroy her opponent's legs first, so that their quickness is impaired. Once that's achieved, she goes higher and gives some Sam-therapy to their faces and necks and chests, and it goes on and on until the poor bitch is on the floor, throwing up her own bejesus. At this point, some of them are facing the tunnel already, but Sam usually gives them additional treatment to make sure they wouldn't wake up in a hospital bed.
Many arenas out there. Some of them accept a semi-dead loser. Someplace else killing was optional. But not on this ship. The room is packed with hidden cameras, and the invisible audience is waiting for the bloodshed.
The blonde's name is Vanessa Dickson, she comes from England, and the last time she killed another woman a week ago - a tremendously long pause for this champ. She is 38, she scored her very first, a very quick, and a very clean kill at the age of fourteen, and she has killed hundreds of women ever since.
Her opponent's name is Samantha Stone. Sam is about as bloodthirsty as Vanessa, and she is just as skilled. She murdered many women on all sorts of underground arenas, and some of her opponents had to be gathered and carried out in garbage bags because of the way Sam took their lives.
In hand-to-hand combat her thing is to destroy her opponent's legs first, so that their quickness is impaired. Once that's achieved, she goes higher and gives some Sam-therapy to their faces and necks and chests, and it goes on and on until the poor bitch is on the floor, throwing up her own bejesus. At this point, some of them are facing the tunnel already, but Sam usually gives them additional treatment to make sure they wouldn't wake up in a hospital bed.
Many arenas out there. Some of them accept a semi-dead loser. Someplace else killing was optional. But not on this ship. The room is packed with hidden cameras, and the invisible audience is waiting for the bloodshed.
A champ who does not enjoy the
killing is not as murderous as her nemesis. Years of practice taught Vanessa as
well as Sam: the more you like what you do, the less chances you have to wind
up in a wooden box, with your eyes glued shut and your body as pretty as it
gets after being destroyed by your last rival ever. That was, undoubtedly,
one of the reasons why these two combatants have gotten this far. Until now Vanessa
and Sam appeared to be equals, killing their way into fame and wealth. Until now,
where death would take one of them, no matter how much they both enjoyed to inflict
it.
It’s always like this. Well,
not always, but really often. First both participants make a strong impression.
Both have a view to kill, both have an impressive collection of dead opponents in
the past. At this point odds of both fighters are hard to predict.
It’s in the end that the difference between the two emerges. No, even sooner. Somewhere in the middle of the road, when one of them suddenly realizes that she is significantly more tired than her foe. That she herself moves way too slow in comparison to her enemy. That all the bruises she has suffered are way too many, whilst there are little to none of them on the other woman’s face.
It’s in the end that the difference between the two emerges. No, even sooner. Somewhere in the middle of the road, when one of them suddenly realizes that she is significantly more tired than her foe. That she herself moves way too slow in comparison to her enemy. That all the bruises she has suffered are way too many, whilst there are little to none of them on the other woman’s face.
It begins with confidence,
though. Cockiness sometimes. Contempt? Not really. Not at first. Although, there
are fighters who despise every adversary that comes their way. But mostly it's
just confidence. Because, no matter how strong the other side, nobody ever
believes they gonna die.
And yet, someone always does.
"So nice we finally meet, Sam," Vanessa says, giving her adversary a bow.
"So nice indeed," Sam replies, returning the bow with a mixture of grim solemnity and self-assured satisfaction. "I looked forward to it."
"So did I." Vanessa says with a smile, and that’s when the signal comes. It’s on. "Let's go then."
The blonde assumes her karate stance, and so does the black woman a second later. Then, simultaneously, they attack.
And yet, someone always does.
"So nice we finally meet, Sam," Vanessa says, giving her adversary a bow.
"So nice indeed," Sam replies, returning the bow with a mixture of grim solemnity and self-assured satisfaction. "I looked forward to it."
"So did I." Vanessa says with a smile, and that’s when the signal comes. It’s on. "Let's go then."
The blonde assumes her karate stance, and so does the black woman a second later. Then, simultaneously, they attack.
End of sample
As I said, it's a short story. The idea came to me after watching Raze with Zoe Bell (she did an awesome job, by the way), and I just thought, 'What the hell! Why shouldn't I write about that?' I'm certainly not a real writer, and I don't pretend to be one. This isn't great literature. Just a story of how two women met, and fought, and how in the end one of them died a terrible death.
One more thing before I let you go (unless you're already gone, that is :) ). I felt strangely attracted to the whole topic of illegal mortal combat, so now the sequel's on its way. I'm hoping to publish it next week. Until then, here's the cover:
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