Witnessing a fight is a surreal event.
Not a professional fight. Not a fight between two people who have trained to throw punches and kicks and take blows with pride and roll with them.
A fight full of brutality and primal urges.
A fight between two people who have no training, just pure animal instinct and anger.
The man in white is screaming, cursing, spitting blood.
The man in black is wrapping torn bits of cloth around one hand.
There have been punches. Kicks. One headbutt. Both fighters are bloodied and breathing heavy.
The man in black pulls out a knife.
The man in white makes a hissing noise.
He’s holding a small box tightly in his hand.
All around are shadows. Everything feels dark. Even the street lamps seem dimmer than usual.
They circle each other.
The man in black adjusts his grip on the knife.
The man in white holds the box tighter, flexing the fingers of his other hand.
The man in black lunges. He looks like a great bird taking flight.
He moves through the air easily, silent.
The man in white screams and tries to step back.
They fall to the ground, the man in black trying to pry the box away.
The man in white is trying to punch and kick but the man in black is bigger and is holding him down.
The man in white hisses again, pushing up from the ground, biting the man in black’s cheek.
The man in black makes a noise like a squawk.
Blood runs down his face, a part of his skull showing in the dim light.
The man in black lifts his arm and then drives his knife into the man in white’s thigh.
The man in white cries out and tries to crawl away, but the knife is being pushed in deeper and deeper.
The sound of sharp metal scraping bone.
The dull sound of a bloody knife tapping into pavement.
The man in white vomits, his eyes rolling back. Too much pain.
He lets go of the box.
The man in black pulls himself up slowly.
Reaching for the box he winces and touches his cheek.
He spits blood on the ground.
The man in white is quiet, shaking on the ground, holding his leg. The knife still buried in his thigh.
The man in black looks at the box.
He carefully opens it.
Something is glowing inside the box.
He smiles, his face lit up, the blood bright red.
He takes the light out of the box.
Two marbles. One a bright orange, the other a pale yellow.
The street lights flare up.
The stars begin to blink and twinkle again.
He drops the pale yellow marble and watches as it rolls down into the gutter.
A full moon rises.
He drops the orange marble into his pocket.
He takes the cloth from around his hand and wipes his cheek and mouth.
The man in black walks away, limping.
The marble glowing brighter in his pocket.