setting fire to our insides for fun | sckrp ty&sy

Quin used to tell me that we all have our demons and even though he never said it, I know for a fact that I'm his. That's okay, sometimes I feel more monster than man anyway. My older brother's blood sits on my knuckles still, unwashed from our struggle. I know he was going easy on me, if he wasn't I'd never have made it out of their alive. I know my older brother's strength.

I think he forgot about my tendency for cruelty.

I think he forgot how desperate I've always been to survive, clinging on to the edge of the world by the tips of my fingers to keep myself from floating away. Quin always said that my drinking and tendency to smoke was only making the process faster. That's alright, I'm all smoke and mirrors anyway.

I circle the fighting ring, flexing my hands to get the raw feeling out of myself, storing it away somewhere that it can't touch me. My parents were good at that at least, teaching us how to be cold, cold careers. Sometimes the only time I think I am really living is when I am in pain.

It's organic, like dirt on the tongue. I crave the taste of iron, the gentle give of bruised skin.

My opponent enters the ring. I bare my chest at her, arms wide.

"Let's pound each other into the dirt."

I lunge at her, fist flying for her jaw.

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[tyrannus is at 0/20]