tattoos, sweaty sparring
Lindsey spent his days in the sun and his nights in the ring. A sea of faces and fists filled with pesos shaken in the air. Sweat coated him. Day, evening, night, it ran from his uncut hair and made the tattoos shine against his tan and he took down opponent after opponent until he finally found the one that wouldn’t fall under his sword.
The judges called it a draw just before Lindsey was ready to kneel and his arms dropped to his sides. Leaden and useless, the swords dropped to the dirt floor and the stranger smiled. He lit a cigar before he climbed down, walked to the bar.
“How much?” Lindsey asked.
“How much for what?”
Smoke curled from the man’s mouth. He took a drink of the local tequila without wincing. Lindsey grinned, this man was not fully human, but he wasn’t a vampire and he handled his weapon as if he’d been born with it attached to his hands.
“Teach me to fight.”
“You already know how to fight, bub.”
“Teach me to fight like you.” Time was too short for explanations. The end was here.
“Give me one good reason.”
“He stole my life.”