never look back -- dotj -- andrew v nicabar {arc}

The events a nice way to get away from the camp, and eventually, I'm back into the district that I knew, the streets still memorised like the back of my hand. A common remembrance from the middle time between the time when my parents killed each other, and when I found solace in the camp of the murderous circus. Too many months where I learnt the arts of theft and street fighting, where I always tried to be the underdog that always wins everything. And that barely happened. Everything that happened I remember like it happened yesterday. And I act like it had also.

The competition that I entered, one to win a crown was not one I entered to win, but a way to help hone the skills that I have no place to practise. Only a storage cupboard that allows them to gather dust and all the other shit I don't need. And one always needs practise on everything that they learn. And for example, I pick a few pockets, earning myself more money than I need to survive for today. And then, all of the bunting in front of me draws me from the pockets, and towards the stage, where the swords are standing, waiting to be swung, and to win the crown that sits between them. And all I know is that it'll earn a pretty penny when I decide to sell it. Or if I decide to sell it at all. 

And watching fights happen left right and centre continues, until, finally, it's my time to show that I'm more skilled then the opponent that'll face me. And hopefully, beat them well and truly and get to the next round.