The South Paw

Photo credit - mailsparky

The sun burnt through the car window onto my arm, I could feel the sting as my skin turned red. I pulled my arm back, no sun cancer for me I thought. Starring out the window I watched paddock after paddock of wheat crops flash by, squinting my eye's, made them look like a golden streak.


He and I would drive for hours, not a word spoken. It would only be obvious to me what I was about to endure when we arrived at the destination.


He turned off the highway and onto a gravel road, I tried to snatch a glimpse of the road's name but the street sign had been shot up. The cars wheel's drove onto the gravel road and that popping sound the gravel makes under the wheel always made me feel like home. But this gravel road was not the run to the farmhouse, it was leading me to somewhere that I didn't know.


Again he turned off the road and onto a dirt track, it had not been used in awhile from the bushy stripe that ran down the middle of the track. Dust started to pour in the car, so I wound the window up and put on the air-con. It was one thing to have a half sun burnt arm and another to get sinus' from dust.


The brakes squeaked as he stopped the car, I looked around quickly, trying to get a sense of my bearings...I saw two other cars, both long black BMW's. that had there window's blacked out...mafia.

In the middle of a hot summers afternoon; where sticky flies crawled relentlessly into the corner of my eyes to suck on what moisture they could find, to the odd piercing caw of a lone crow and the faint baa calls of sheep echoed through the land.


I sat glued to my spot, what fucking ambush has he got me in today...I angerly thought.
I wanted to beat the shit out of him.


The unknown occupants got out and looked each other over, we got out too and they looked us up and down. She spied me like I was some product on display at the local shop. Her blond hair tied back in a pony tail, her body tanned and muscle, it was a fight.

They exchanged nods and it was on.

I cringed at the thought, why couldn't I just punch his head a  few times, he'll keep...I hated him for always setting me up in these situations. I hated him period!


I walked out to the edge of the wheat crop, its sweet smell softening to my psyche and a gentle reminder that the world can be a beautiful place. The fighter jogged over punching the air as she came and flexing her muscles as she showed her prowess in body building poses. Far from being intimidated, show pony. I had seen it before and knew that I would see it again.


I didn't want to hurt the girl, but like a dog backed into a corner, I would bite.
I grew anxious, sweat already was forming on my brow. There was no way I could back out now, fuck I really hated him, either way I was fucked, by him or the mob.
The fighter and I took to the open ring and squared up to face each other, bare knuckled.
I let all outside noises drown from my ears. Like tunnel vision, my attention was only on the orthodox fighter, it was not only about winning the fight but proving myself to him so that he would some how acknowledge my existence as important.


We sized each other up and danced around each other gracefully flirting our skills. Gesturing to the other, trying to entice the fiery of the other fighter to ignite and explode with the first punch. My patience was long but I knew to gain his approval I would have to be quick. I gritted my back teeth and crunched on sand grains that I had sucked in from the dust, I spat it on the ground.


The fighter gave an arrogant nod at me, asking the question – did I have what it would take to win this fight? I always played my cards close to my chest and the fighter became agitated and said something in a language, that I couldn't understand but by the laughter that came from her corner, I knew it was a sly remark at me.


I was a tough chick and didn't tolerate rude behaviour.
"What! Can't you speak english?"
The fighter looked at me confused, I was right, she no comprehendo.
Foreigners.


That was enough for me to fuel my rage and I planted my feet and in a smooth one two movement jabbed with the right hand and straight punched with the left. It landed on the  fighters chin and for a second the fighter lost her balance, falling backwards amongst the wheat crop. I drew back and wiped the beads of sweat from my face, I could feel the sting of the sun on my face and I squinted and put my hand up to block the suns ray's and I saw the fighter look over to her corner and some big greasy fat bloke was shouting,
“get in there, get in there,”


The fighter got to her feet and dusted her self off, using this as a stalling tactic to try and lure me into a false sense of security...the fighter lunged at me, I advanced towards her and again planted my feet and again jabbed and punched with a hook. It landed on the cheek bone and a cracking sound boomed over the jeering from the side line - the bone broken.

The fighter bent over and sucked in large amounts of air. The fat greasy guy was yelling profanity at her. She shook her head and he yelled more louder and gestured violently towards her, she straightened and side way glanced at me. She raised her fists and took a few steps forward.


I changed my stance to orthodox and charged in. I jabbed to the left, jabbed to the right, then dropped both hands. Confused the fighter again lunged forward and I broke with an upper cut. A deafening crunch echoed in my ears as her teeth tore through her upper lip and blood spewed out. The fighter screamed in pain and withdrew.


I looked in my corner and he stood arms folded, he nodded in gesture to finish the fighter off.


I stepped in fists clenched, bobbing and weaving. The fighter huddled in her corner, but she was pushed back into the ring...she spat a vile amount of blood and saliva on the ground and bobbed and weaved trying to protect her broken face.


The fighter leapt forward in a variety of combinations and I grabbed hold of her and pushed her back. I then repeatedly punched with left hooks. I let her go and she fell, her face covered in blood – the fighter put her hand up – she had had enough.


I walked to my corner, not a mark on me and all he said was that I 'took too long.'


I looked back over my shoulder and saw two blokes usher the fighter in the car's and they drove off in a hurry, spinning their wheels as they left. Then as if taking the first breath since arriving, I sighed heavily. I wondered what trophy he gained from me winning.


The drive home was in silence, my thoughts turned to the other fighter and hoped that she would fair ok and if her captures were kinder to her than mine. I looked at my hands and my knuckles bruised, bloodied and the skin torn. I didn't feel any pain, I was numb. Numb from the very essences of every position he put me in - because I was just some girl surviving the best and only way I knew how.