Fight

A Story by Wynny

Version 1

Those boys were delivering blows again. Liam held his handball tightly with his right hand. Kookaburras cackled in the distance. He knew it was for fun; it had to be. People gathered around, cheering and shouting like the audience in the footy game he watched last night. They left looking like the players after the game; bloodied, scratched and panting. He never played like that before; it all seemed like a new level of sport.

The school day continued with yet more fights and brawls; Liam started to feel a want to join in as well. The victor was always awarded with a stream of high fives, fist bumps and cries of praise. His mum never praised or congratulated him; he felt empty.

He had just moved into the suburb a month ago; it was just him and his mum. Their flat was neither fancy nor dilapidated; Liam didn’t mind it. The neighborhood was a dismal and lacking desert by day; a drunken and violent feeding ground by night. Crimson red stains populated the roads and paths every evening. Glass littered the gardens and graffiti swarmed each and every wall. Each night was polluted with the combinations of both bird squawking and human laughter, yet the laughter seemed more inhuman.

As the number of fights grew, Liam’s interest and excitement increased. There was not much going on in his life; this sparked the dormant volcano resting inside him. He would be on the sidelines, watching with admiration as skin was bruised and bones were broken. There seemed to be no end to it; his handball was nearly flat from the constant pressure from his right hand. He sat there, mesmerized and brain washed. Scenes of violence flooded his mind; an addiction developed.

During one of the fights, a teacher came in. It turned out to be the principal of the school. Liam wondered why he would try to interfere; he was an old, short and eccentric man. He didn't have any opinions of him; there was nothing interesting about him to bother looking into. The boys refused to stop their actions, however, and continued fighting. Liam saw no reason to stop either.

Liam strolled through the neighborhood, thinking. The howling winds deafened the usual riots of kookaburras. There weren’t many of them in his old suburb or any other place he’d visited; they seemed to come out of nowhere. His old home had been filled with rainbow lorikeets which his dad used to feed every morning. Memories began to relay through his mind; distracting him. Liam remembered the shining figure of the tall and broad shouldered man. The warm and tingly scent that he smelt with every hug he received was overwhelming, in a good way. He shrugged off the thought.

Morning came with hardly any sunlight. Liam arrived at school and spotted one of the boys walking towards the back of the school. He decided to follow. There was a whole group of them waiting, split apart and glaring. Liam waited behind the corner of the building with tension in his body.

‘You bloody serious mate? You think we bashed your little friend?

‘Yea you bloody did. He saw youse jump on him, he did.’

‘Yeah nah, we never did nuffin’ to him.’

Liam didn’t know what they were on about; he was waiting for a chance. The argument went on until finally, contact was made. His handball dropped to the ground; adrenaline drove him into the midst of the action.

Thud.

Colors swarmed his vision. A pulsing pain swept through his head, pinning him to the ground. All he could hear were the shouts and cries from above him; he couldn’t move. He was fading into a world of darkness and oblivion, gradually waning until he could feel nothing else.

Liam woke up. Kookaburras flew off his chest and into the distance. He walked home, slowly and nonchalantly. He didn’t bother to avoid the glass and blood; sweat trickled down his head onto the numerous scratches that populated his arm. He reached his flat and opened the door. His mum didn’t even glance at him; he went straight into his room. He stared at his right hand for a short time. He clenched his fist. There was no handball there.