Shades of Moons
The First
The noise was deafening. In the abandoned skating rink, at least a thousand people had gathered. Io had found a spot close to the rink and watched through the scratched plexiglass as competitors beat each other in the center. He cheered with few of the onlookers as the underdog, Tommy Warren, landed a crushing blow to the leading fighter, Rorey Peters.
A collective groan erupted throughout the makeshift rink as Rorey Peters fell backward, knocked out cold from the final hit. They had just lost more money than they were expecting. Io, needing the money he would make from his fight, checked his watch. Ten minutes.
He threw his watch into his backpack, and, heading into the locker room, he pulled the bottoms of his sweats up to his knees. His signature neon yellow sneakers gleamed. His black bottoms and yellow neon shirt were his common appearance. Io had an image to maintain.
The young boy brushed his shaggy, mahogany hair across his forehead with his fingers before heading for the connecting door into the arena. As he pushed open the door, he prayed that he wasn't hurt enough for his siblings to observe. Not that they would anyways, he thought.
When the crowd saw his glowing yellow shirt, the cheers bounced and rebounded from the walls of the structure. His fight was typical. The way he was used to them. A few slow hits from the opposing fighter and then he swung hard three times and the signal blew. It was over.
He raised his hands above his head, celebrating and inviting the crowd to shout more. A smile graced his pink lips. This was the only place where his brother would never outshine him.
A collective groan erupted throughout the makeshift rink as Rorey Peters fell backward, knocked out cold from the final hit. They had just lost more money than they were expecting. Io, needing the money he would make from his fight, checked his watch. Ten minutes.
He threw his watch into his backpack, and, heading into the locker room, he pulled the bottoms of his sweats up to his knees. His signature neon yellow sneakers gleamed. His black bottoms and yellow neon shirt were his common appearance. Io had an image to maintain.
The young boy brushed his shaggy, mahogany hair across his forehead with his fingers before heading for the connecting door into the arena. As he pushed open the door, he prayed that he wasn't hurt enough for his siblings to observe. Not that they would anyways, he thought.
When the crowd saw his glowing yellow shirt, the cheers bounced and rebounded from the walls of the structure. His fight was typical. The way he was used to them. A few slow hits from the opposing fighter and then he swung hard three times and the signal blew. It was over.
He raised his hands above his head, celebrating and inviting the crowd to shout more. A smile graced his pink lips. This was the only place where his brother would never outshine him.