In The House of Flies
The air of the venue was thick; a suffocating concoction of sweat, mildew, and vomit. The floor splashed with blood and beer, life and liquor, grubby hands exchanging bets as grunts echoed through the warehouse. The forced exhale of air as a fist hit your stomach. The clash of metal as your back hit the chain fence that kept the fighters in their place. Queenie breathed it all in, let it sour her stomach with memories of her childhood, let it pump her veins full of adrenaline at the possibility of agony and victory. They knew her well enough by now; the blonde thirteen year old with a constant scowl who’d grown into a woman who bore fangs and talons, no longer a child but the product of survival. A predator. A warrior. A sadist. She didn’t come for the money anymore; she came for the thrill. She came to forget. She came to fade into nothing but flesh and bone and blood, broken, battered, and shedding.
She came to remember that she was human. alive. That all of this wasn’t some delusion. it is possible to die.
“ Haven’t seen y’in here fer a bit, girlie, ” August spoke through broken teeth, so it made it sound more like a lisp-like mumble. If you didn’t get to know the guy well enough, you probably didn’t understand half of what he said. She sure as hell didn’t for a good few years. “ Bettin’ or fightin’? ”
Blues made of steel landed on the man she’d known since she was a child, a look that said “when do i ever bet?” Money made the world go ‘round, but violence made hers. It was the only currency she’d learned how to play. She left that to those better suited, to friends who knew others would underestimate the girl, who’d bet against her unknowing of the actual odds. She’d get her cut, she’d get her kicks, and that was that. A night in the life of Queenie Benton — the Soldier who’d rather be beaten unconscious than face what she knew really laid beneath.
Sweat covered her skin, slick and glinting against the low lights as she bobbed to one side, narrowly missing the fist of her contender. The weight wasn’t even. He had the advantage. She knew it; she was used to it. And this time, she had enough rage inside her to fuel a Roman army. She wouldn’t say the name, not even in her head. She wouldn’t acknowledge her failure as a friend. It belonged sprayed on the floor with the rest of it all; blood and guts and nothing butfucking glory left over.
His next hit landed, only partially, but enough to catch her chin, splitting her bottom lip before it settled in. Her vision began to blur, blackness closing in until she was blind. Pain was a vibration that soared along her nerves, no longer a splitting blast that made her stumble. Queenie wasn’t home anymore. The adrenaline, the beast, the whatever you wanted to call it took over. Eyes that once held fire became blank — dark, empty pockets of fury, of a pure desire to destroy, as if nothing else in the entire world existed.
She wouldn’t remember it, but her movements quickened, her lean body sliding across the cement to pull the weight out from under her opponent. One, two, three hits; fist, elbow, knee. Slide. Distance. She wore him down, tripping him on his own footing, ducking beneath punches and for the one that caught, she spit out a bloody laugh, unable to feel the throb that would inevitably find her later. Her fights always ran longer, but in the end he was a pile at her feet, a heel making solid contact with his face as she claimed her conquest. Crimson spilled from her nose, the metallic taste mingling with salt of her sweat and she let her teeth graze over her now swollen bottom lip.
She had ten minutes tops. Snatching her money from August, she weaved her way through the crowds, hitting a sprint as soon as she met the cool blast of the outdoors. Julian was waiting and Queenie didn’t hesitate for a second, tossing their profits on the passenger seat before climbing in back. As soon as she hit the fabric, she felt it; all the weight of the world crashing down on her, body falling against the cushions, her heart pumping so loudly it was all she could hear before she heard nothing at all.
Not until the next morning. Not until her entire body ached and it stung when she took a breath. And all she could do was cough out a short laugh, pulling the sheets over her head to block the light and revel in the pain. you are human. it is possible to die.
