At thirteen I almost killed another boy.
If I’d been at school I’d been expelled and sent to juvie.
For me it meant a slap on the wrist from coach Billie
“Don’t be such a little girl”
I excelled and reached the top, but when I met my bitch I didn’t know what words to say. She tried to teach me, but at the end I only knew the language of my fists.
From the prison window I can see the sky, and cries, but with night I’ve taught myself these words.
I wonder who’ll listen.
© J Hardy Carroll[/caption
Being a coward of a boy I preferred to keep out of fights. I can clearly see that in some cases boxing can be a way for those more inclined to fight to keep themselves out of worse things. However I think there might be things that can happen later. Words are even more important and the coaches have a lot of responsibility to foster the young boys.
Rochelle selects the example. We at Friday Fictioneers follow and write to the same image. No more than hundred words, and I try to do it in exactly one hundred.
February 28, 2018