Here’s a sneak peak at the WIP (Work in Progress), the first 600ish words of Lobolita:
He was bigger than me, but bloodier. The red stuff poured down the side of his face and from his lip. Amazingly, his nose remained undamaged. He had been able to avoid every punch I directed at it. Instead I had hit him in the brow, the temple, and the lip a few times. I was faster than him, and he wasn’t that good at dodging, but just good enough for me to miss that big, honking nose. At over six-feet, the man towered over my petite 5’3 frame. He tried to rush me, but that only put him in the perfect position for me to uppercut. I didn’t move. I just let his body’s momentum put most of the power into the punch. He saw what I was doing, and in slow motion, I could see as his eyes widened ever-so-slightly, but a moment too slow and a moment too late. He tried to jerk his head back, and he succeeded, but only slightly. My fist pumped up towards his jaw, missing, and I hit his nose instead. Finally! So that’s what it took! I felt a satisfying crunch as my knuckles impacted his septum. His body jerked back. I breathed deeply and then held it. The man stumbled; he was off balance. I took my chance. Gaining momentum with a turn of my body, I jumped and kicked the man in his chest, taking his balance completely away. He fell over. I jumped on top of the man who had to outweigh me by at least a hundred pounds. But that didn’t matter. His head lolled back and forth on the make-shift mat. In an instant, the comprehension when out of his eyes, and his chin fell to one side. In my mind, the distorted voice from the Mortal Kombat arcade game played in my head, “FINISH HIM!” But alas, I had no way of removing his skeleton from his body, nor did I have a creepy claw chain thing that shot out of my hand. I was just a normal human being.
A human being that could kick-ass.
The Ref bounded over to us. After a couple of seconds, He blew his whistle. I stood up and he grabbed my arm and threw it into the air. “Winner Lobolita!” he called out. The crowd around us cheered. I spit out my mouth guard, the only piece of safety equipment I used, my teeth were naturally perfect, and I wanted to keep it that way. I smiled at the audience. My chest heaved in and out as my body finally realized what the hell just happened to it and was now catching up. The crowd was going wild. Many people had come to see today’s fight as the giant took on the little she-wolf. Some people were cheering. The underdog had won! But most were cursing, threatening to start their own fights in the crowds. They had bet that the big guy was going to win; it’s the natural order of things. Big eats small. The odds were against me, in more ways than one. Those few who had actually bet on me winning were now receiving quite the boost in their income.
My name is Evelyn Whitman, and I am an illegal street fighter. My stage name is Lobolita which means “little she-wolf.”
There are a few things I’ve learned in this business. One thing is to get the hell out of sight after a fight like this one. Too many angry people can start a mob. And mobs grab attention. Mobs say “Hello, police!” I had never been caught, and never planned on it, either.