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fic_promptly prompts. Both are around 270 words long.
Sons of Anarchy, Any, Is it really worth dying for?
Anticipation
Kozik holds out his hands so Tig can bind them. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he begins to wrap the bandages around Kozik's knuckles, yet he pulls the cloth tight enough to serve its purpose. Over Tig's shoulder, Kozik can see them preparing the ring: making sure the corner padding is secure, sweeping the canvas. The crowd is small but loud and pressing close to the ropes. Cash is changing hands, fistfuls of dirty bills.
Somewhere on the other side of the ring, his opponent is going through the same preparations. Bigger than Kozik—a couple of inches and twenty pounds on him, Kozik reckoned, when they faced off in the middle of the canvas ten minutes ago. But while the other guy was trying to outstare him and talk trash, Kozik was watching the slow shuffle of his feet and his sluggish hands. Long as he stays out of reach and keeps moving....
He feels a trickle of sweat running down his chest, making its way over tanned skin and tattoo. It's hot in the warehouse, the sun beating down on the flat roof and tin walls, but that's not why he's sweating.
"A'ight, bro?" Tig asks, softly.
Bringing his gaze back to meet Tig's, Kozik sees concern instead of the usual icy blue chips. He nods, blows out a breath. "Yeah."
He knows it's going to be brutal. It always is. His heart is racing now, as Tig finishes his hands, slaps a palm on his shoulder to steer him toward the ring. It's moments like this he lives for.
oOo
Prompt: Any, Any, Home means the place you feel most unwelcome.
Return of the native
Jake hesitates below the stoop, looking up at the house. The familiar slope of the roof looms above him, black against the familiar pattern of the stars in the Kansas sky. He didn't expect to be back here so soon. He didn't expect to be back here ever, after this afternoon.
"Jake?" His mom is holding the door open. "Can you manage the steps?"
"Yeah. I can manage." Though his leg's still sore, the painkillers April gave him when she cleaned up the cut and bandaged him up are starting to kick in. Still Jake doesn't move. "Is Dad home?"
His mother shakes her head. "No. I think he's still out with Eric, handling things." She disappears through the door, her next words floating back to him. "Let me find a flashlight...."
Jake puts a hand on the porch railing to help him climb the steps. He doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to face whatever fresh disapproval his father can throw at him in the morning. Doesn't want, above all, to breathe in the familiar scent of home again and remember all the could haves and might haves and past mistakes. Doesn't want to have them rise up from where they've lain hidden all these years, buried beneath the layers of his more recent screw-ups. Have them join the current reproachful chorus in his head: Saffa, Freddy....
Taking a deep breath, he pulls himself up the stoop and through the door.
Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in. He learned that in school, a long time ago. Doesn't mean it feels good to be back.
fic_promptly prompts. Both are around 270 words long.Sons of Anarchy, Any, Is it really worth dying for?
Anticipation
Kozik holds out his hands so Tig can bind them. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he begins to wrap the bandages around Kozik's knuckles, yet he pulls the cloth tight enough to serve its purpose. Over Tig's shoulder, Kozik can see them preparing the ring: making sure the corner padding is secure, sweeping the canvas. The crowd is small but loud and pressing close to the ropes. Cash is changing hands, fistfuls of dirty bills.
Somewhere on the other side of the ring, his opponent is going through the same preparations. Bigger than Kozik—a couple of inches and twenty pounds on him, Kozik reckoned, when they faced off in the middle of the canvas ten minutes ago. But while the other guy was trying to outstare him and talk trash, Kozik was watching the slow shuffle of his feet and his sluggish hands. Long as he stays out of reach and keeps moving....
He feels a trickle of sweat running down his chest, making its way over tanned skin and tattoo. It's hot in the warehouse, the sun beating down on the flat roof and tin walls, but that's not why he's sweating.
"A'ight, bro?" Tig asks, softly.
Bringing his gaze back to meet Tig's, Kozik sees concern instead of the usual icy blue chips. He nods, blows out a breath. "Yeah."
He knows it's going to be brutal. It always is. His heart is racing now, as Tig finishes his hands, slaps a palm on his shoulder to steer him toward the ring. It's moments like this he lives for.
Prompt: Any, Any, Home means the place you feel most unwelcome.
Return of the native
Jake hesitates below the stoop, looking up at the house. The familiar slope of the roof looms above him, black against the familiar pattern of the stars in the Kansas sky. He didn't expect to be back here so soon. He didn't expect to be back here ever, after this afternoon.
"Jake?" His mom is holding the door open. "Can you manage the steps?"
"Yeah. I can manage." Though his leg's still sore, the painkillers April gave him when she cleaned up the cut and bandaged him up are starting to kick in. Still Jake doesn't move. "Is Dad home?"
His mother shakes her head. "No. I think he's still out with Eric, handling things." She disappears through the door, her next words floating back to him. "Let me find a flashlight...."
Jake puts a hand on the porch railing to help him climb the steps. He doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to face whatever fresh disapproval his father can throw at him in the morning. Doesn't want, above all, to breathe in the familiar scent of home again and remember all the could haves and might haves and past mistakes. Doesn't want to have them rise up from where they've lain hidden all these years, buried beneath the layers of his more recent screw-ups. Have them join the current reproachful chorus in his head: Saffa, Freddy....
Taking a deep breath, he pulls himself up the stoop and through the door.
Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in. He learned that in school, a long time ago. Doesn't mean it feels good to be back.