For those of you unfamiliar with Kiva’s Fight Journal, it’s a series that takes place in Texas in FyreCracka’s “catpin universe”, a world that looks and runs like our own, with the exception that there is no shortage of women looking for a fight. Most fight styles are catfights or wrestling, but here I try boxing. Below are excerpts from my latest chapter. The full chapter 7 and series can be found here:
https://www.freecatfights.com/forums/index.php?topic=90742.60Her name is Destiny. She is the 18 year old child.... I mean woman,...standing opposite from me in the cage. Like me, she is shaking her arms, bouncing and shuffling her feet in place. Her blonde hair is in a ponytail, her fair skin is covered in tattoos. The referee calls us to the center. We both obey as I walk off to meet her with my trainer Freddie behind me, rubbing my shoulders. Now is the stare down. Our blue eyes are fixed on each other’s. She gives me her best scowl as I do the same. My sports bra and bikini bottom are black, hers are blue. We are wearing 10 oz. boxing gloves . The fight is scheduled for 10 two minute rounds with one minute in between.
The referee is reviewing the rules but I’m not hearing it. It’s a typical crowd tonight at Billy’s. Electric. Horny. Bloodthirsty. My fight is the lead in to Jolene’s caged catfight title defense against Patricia in a fight billed as “Battle of the Gingers.” Inside the cage, I fight back the butterflies. The air smells like cigarette and cigar smoke and spilt beer. The lights are bright, it’s hard to make out faces in the crowd. I know Tom is out there. I think Kelli and Jake are still here. I suspect Jolene and Paige are watching. The rest are nameless silhouettes of ranchers, oil workers, factory employees, business persons, accountants and lawyers.
Destiny looks very confident, as if she owns the place. She’s a self-absorbed twit who’s already made several poor life decisions, making a living as a stripper and a hustler. She had been after me for weeks wanting a fist fight. She considers herself a striker. After watching videos of my knockouts of Freda and Ginger, she marked me as an opponent. I wasn’t very enthused. With Destiny at 5’3 and 115 lbs, I didn’t need another undersized opponent. She persisted. Finally, she took the idea to Billy who offered to sponsor a bare knuckle cage fight. Not for me. In my profession, I can’t afford to injure my hands. Billy suggested boxing with gloves. When I hesitated, he reminded me that I turned down his last two offers to fight and after strike three, he’s done with me. At least I’m getting paid for tonight.
Destiny has more fighting experience. She is fifteen years younger than me. I have a 4 inch and 13 lb size advantage. It has occurred to me that getting knocked out by a smaller teenager will be humiliating. I’ve trained hard for this, working out at 4 am, then after work. Freddie hooked me up with Hector, a retired former world lightweight champion who now runs a gym in town, specializing in teaching boxing to women. Both men are working my corner tonight. Destiny’s corner woman is her mother, a blonde woman named Krystal who looks eerily like Kelli’s evil twin. Think of Kelli Rose as a weatherbeaten, tattooed, foul mouthed, chain smoking skank and you have a pretty good picture of Krystal.
The referee’s orders us to touch gloves and return to our “corners,” actually opposite ends of a square enclosed by the chain link fence. Freddie inserts my mouthpiece and applies Vaseline to my face. My long hair is braided and tied back. Hector quickly goes over last second strategy.
“Oh Kiva?,” he says. I turn toward him. “Your necklace. You’re still wearing your necklace. Take it off.”
“Oh shit, I forgot.” I lower my head as the bald fit middle aged man removes the gold plated jewelry.
........
“Ding.” The opening bell sounds as our stools are scuttled out of the cage. My heart must be racing faster than patients with atrial fibrillation at the hospital. Destiny and I meet with our gloves up in the center of the ring. Immediately, she circles to her left and I pivot to keep in front of her. She throws a few jabs but they are flickering blows without much force behind them. I block them easily. I stay in place as she dances a semicircle to one side, then reverses directions. Finally, she moves in at close range. I throw my own left jab, but in a flash, Destiny backs out. My miss wasn’t even close. She moves in and out and in again. I threw a looping right hand that she easily dodges and counters with a left hook, catching me above the right eye. Not a dangerous punch but it sent a message. Destiny is fast and clever. Her feet are swift. She is hard to hit. And the crowd loves it. Half a minute into the round, my confidence is already draining.
“Kiva, the plan,” Hector shouts, “Don’t stand there and watch her. Stay with the plan.”
He’s right. I should have known. We watched the videos. She’s doing exactly what we expected. Our plan was to cut her off from using the whole cage or she’ll circle me and jab me all night. I think it was Mike Tyson who said everybody has a plan until they get punched in the mouth. With the novelty of being in my first boxing match wearing off, I’ve got to try something.
Don’t chase her, I tell myself. That’s what she wants. Cut her off. Move when she moves. Be her mirror. She dances to her left, I shift to my right and angle my body so she can’t get around me. It’s working. She’s flitting side to side. She moves, feints, then ducks out. But she’s giving up ground and moving backwards. The cage fence behind her back is getting closer. Yes, I’m getting hit by some shots but it’s not so bad. I’ll trap her soon.
We continue this dance for about a minute. I can tell Destiny is getting flustered as I keep her from circling. Finally, I land a straight right to the midsection, backing her up against the cage. It worked! I quickly close the distance. Keeping her pinned against the cage, I fire short blows to the body. A hard right uppercut to the solar plexus nearly lifts her off her feet. She lets out an “oomph” before dropping to a knee. I aim for her head before the ref pushes me away. What the fuck?
“Knockdown,” he informs me. “She’s on her knee. Go to the neutral corner.”
Shit, I almost forgot this was boxing. Destiny is up at seven. The ref waves us to resume fighting. However, as I move in on her, the bell rings to end the round.
Freddie and Hector are pleased. “You got it girl,” Hector smiles. “You know what to do. Back her up and trap her and she’s yours.” On the stool, I’m already sucking air. I look over at Destiny and she looks determined and relaxed despite my body shots. That’s the resiliency of youth. The minute rest evaporates quickly and the bell signals round two.
Destiny comes out circling and jabbing again and I catch a stiff one on the nose. The crowd is dazzled by her speed and footwork. She seems to fly around the ring, moving in, jabbing, ducking my counter, and backing out again. Instinctively, I forget my strategy and stalk her, getting peppered by her jabs from different angles. My trainers are frustrated. “Kiva, stay with the plan, cut her off,” they exhort.
The second round seems like a repeat of the first, as I start moving side to side with her. She misses a big right and I tie her up. With my size and weight advantage, I drive her backward against the cage with my short right. I cut her off by moving to the left, so she moves right - into the corner. Yes! Where I want her! With my reach, I fire a series of jabs, most of which she blocks. Finally, she lowers her guard for a second and I crash my hard right hand into her temple, sending her reeling along the fence, before falling on her hands and knees. Another knockdown! I know she’ll get up. She’s on her feet at the count of seven and I move in on her from my neutral corner. I drive her back into the corner and unleash a combination of blows to the body.
Suddenly, I feel a pair of arms around my neck as she lurches forward to tie me up. The ref orders a break, and a hard bony elbow jars my jaw, sending pain through the lower part of my face. Shocked, I stop, rub the right side of my mandible, then a right hook crashes into the left side of my jaw. I stumble backward, losing my balance, unable to prevent myself from falling on my ass. Fuck! I’m down - for the first time. The referee is counting but I know I’m OK. I spring to my feet immediately complaining about the foul but he’s not interested. Round two is history as the bell sounds.
“Fuck, did you see that?” I ask my trainers.
“Keep your cool and stay focused,” they advise me. I’m sucking wind even more than the last round.
Round three begins once again with Destiny dancing and me pivoting. I learned my lesson. I’m not delaying this time. I can back her into the cage and she knows it. And I’m proving it again. I keep her from circling around me. We trade punches. She lands twice as many blows but mine are harder. A right cross catches her as she’s backing up and she stumbles into the fence. I go in for the kill, but the dirty stripper wraps me around the chest, and I feel a solid rock crash into my nose. It was Destiny’s head. The fucking little low life head butted me. The pain is paralyzing. “Did you see that?” I shout to the ref. I see Destiny on the attack and I cover up.
My face is inflamed with pain and all I can think to do is protect myself. My arms and gloves cover my head as Destiny goes on the offensive. I keep my face well protected at the cost of my body as Destiny lands several hard blows to the belly and ribs. I hold this position and back up, so it is now Destiny doing the chasing. Her pursuit brings the end to round three.
Blood trickles from my nose. Hector assures me it’s not broken and he applies some goop on a swab before sticking it up my nose to stop the bleeding. It seems to be working. The trainers are surprised the ref didn’t see the head butt but they promised they had my back if any more funny stuff.
I’m still in pain and having trouble breathing through my nose due to the fouls as I answer the bell for round four. Destiny and I approach each other. “Try fouling me again, bitch,” I snarl through my mouth piece. She knows I’m looking to retaliate. The skank keeps her distance, only moving in occasionally to jab. That’s fine with me. I’m blocking most of her punches and I need time to recover. We’re moving much more slowly this round and throwing fewer punches. The crowd voices it’s displeasure and I hear a few boos at the close of this uneventful round. “Come on girls, pick up the pace,” Billy orders from outside the cage. Douchebag.
At the start of round five, we both seem a bit more rejuvenated. Destiny is still keeping her distance but is taking more calculated chances, throwing jabs, but now mixing in more right hands. Stinging flurries connect with my already bruised face. As she dances and flutters, I realize I’m having a hard time keeping up with her. After thirty seconds, I actually catch her with a sloppy looping right hand on the side of the jaw. She staggers and retreats to her own corner and covers up as I begin to press her. I outmuscle her with my body and fire away. Outside the cage, her skank mother shouts, “Hang on Destiny, cover up. This dumb bitch can’t beat you.”
I remember my trainer’s instructions to pivot with my punches as I have my derelict opponent trapped in the corner. I throw a series of left jabs, feint, than launch my haymaker right hook, I prepare for the impact of my glove to Destiny’s face, only to find I hit...nothing. The clever little whore ducked under my right, escaping from the corner like a trapped mouse who saw daylight. The momentum of my punch nearly turns me around. I’m confused as Destiny ploughs into me, driving me into her own corner. Before I could reorient myself, a right hand smacks into my left cheek. I slump backward against the corner post as Destiny lands combinations to my head and body. Once again, I cover up, moving my head up and down and side to side. “Put er away, Destiny,” her sleazy mother, Krystal shouts out. “You got er. Knock out that nurse cxnt.”
She has me pressed against the cage wire. Finally, I manage to clinch, my nose pushing into her sweaty tattooed shoulder. Destiny pushes me back into the fence but I have her arms tied up. What I do not notice is that the miserable shit has extended the thumb of her glove and thrusts it upward spiking me in the face just below my left eye. I let out a shriek, loosening my grip on her.
The referee does nothing as Destiny wriggles free of the clinch, and drives her knee into my belly, doubling me over as I drop to my knee. The fucking dirty bitch. Surely the referee saw that. It was so blatant. From my knees, I see him approaching her and...sending her to a neutral corner. He returns to me, then begins to...COUNT! WHAT THE FUCK. He scored it a knockdown. Infuriated, I stand immediately and wait for Destiny to approach. We put our hands up, but I go low, grab her around the waist and swing her into the fence, “You’re dead, bitch,” I grumble as the round five is over.
The ref is intently talking to my cornermen as they point out Destiny’s obvious disregard for the rules. They return to my corner to inform me of shocking news. I’ve been charged with a foul. They apply ice to my eye. Fortunately, the thumb spike missed the eye directly but a weal may be rising beneath it.
The bell for round six sounds and I’m mad as hell. I’ve been fouled three times, yet I’m the one with a point deducted. Fired up, I charge to the center of the ring as she dances away. She still can’t counter my strategy of restricting her space. I begin to move with her. I don’t need to outmaneuver her this time. My big right to the jaw drops her. In my neutral corner, she goes up on one knee and takes a nine count. She’s been rocked. I know I can end this. She looks unsteady, she is backing up to her own corner as I stalk her for the kill. She’s trapped and just looking to hang on. I throw an avalanche of punches, digging into the body. She feels it. I can tell she’s in pain. She ducks low, then lower, then practically to the ground to where I can’t hit her. This isn’t legal. I look to the useless ref. Nobody home. Destiny wraps her arms around my knees, lifts up and twists. I spin off balance, then fall backward into the cage. The blonde scum has me trapped against her corner post again, wrapping her arms around my neck. Fuck, where’s the ref to call the break?
I grab on to her neck and shoulders as we wrestle in her corner. The toxic raspy voice of her trashy mom trills again from behind the corner, “Kill ‘er Destiny. Kill ‘er.” Then, in the middle of my lower back, something penetrates my skin, as if something entered the cage from outside the fence sending searing pain in my lower spine like a hornet sting, but worse. I scream and lurch forward. I quickly turn behind me to see Destiny’s mom stamping out her cigarette butt. “FUCK!” I scream out. “SHE BURNED ME!...WHAT THE FUCK!
Completely distracted and with my hands down, I never saw the right hand coming, landing flush on the side of my jaw. All I know is that I am down on the canvas and stunned. Lying on my side, propped up by one arm, I’ve been rocked. I hear the crowd but they sound so distant. I can get up. I’m not out. I’m going to get the fuck up and knock this bitch out.
“Four...Five..” I can get up but it’s so...hard.
“Seven...Eight...” So hard...but I’m ...up.
The little BITCH! She comes after me, her right hand cocked. She thinks I’m vulnerable so she’s loaded up her haymaker. Not me, babe. Two can play this game. I duck low, wrap up her waist and lift. I carry the load of garbage to the center of the ring and throw her to the canvas as hard as I can. She leaps back up and we grapple until I throw her down again. I feel the refs hand seize my arm. He’s pulling me to my corner. He speaks. I’ve been charged with another foul and point deduction. One more, he tells me, I’ll be disqualified. Is he fucking kidding? The round ends. Freddie and Hector argue with the ref but it goes nowhere.
Round seven begins. Something seems different. I have an ominous dreadful feeling. This fight has been something out of the Twilight Zone. I’ve been elbowed, head butted, kneed, thumbed to the eye and burnt with a cigarette. And yet I have two fouls to her none. Something is not right. Who the fuck is this ref? I’m past beginning to wonder. Destiny and I approach with a viciousness unlike any other round. For the first time, she doesn’t begin the round by dancing and circling. Her hands are up like she wants to slug it out. That’s fine with me, whore. Bring it. We meet in the middle of the ring and swing. She no longer respects my power and seems to think I’ve weakened. I’m getting hit. She’s faster and landing more. For the first time in the fight, I notice my legs feel different...heavier. My swings are sloppy, I’m not punching on the pivot. I’ve forgotten how to use my shoulders and elbows. My trainers are screaming at me.
I flail at her but I’m the one getting hit. A stiff left to the face staggers me backward. She pursues. I let her swing and miss, then move in for the clinch. I’m getting tired so I lean on her. I look out for the thumb this time but now she tries a new dirty trick. I feel her kicking my shins. I motion to the ref but I get no response. We break, this time I land a solid left to the chest and she backs up. We again stand in place and slug. She hits me with three blows before I land one.
Finally, my favorite punch, the right hook drives into her ribs. She winces and grabs on to me and resumes kicking my legs. We lose our balance and stumble to the fence, grabbing on to each other. I manage to free my right hand and plunge another chopping shot to the same ribs. She feels it. Her kicks are harder and more frantic. My shins are in agony. “Stop kicking, cxnt,” I grow. I grapevine one of her legs with mine. As she tries to kick again, we both lose our footing and spin into the cage wall. Destiny strikes the fence face first as the two of us slide to the canvas. We roll together for a few yards before the ref separates us and helps Destiny up. Is that legal? I painfully power my way to my feet and the two of us prepare to face off.
As I rise, I note a trail of red drops staining the canvas. There’s a smear of crimson across my bra...and on my left arm....Blood...no mistake about it...but from where?...one look at Destiny’s face answers the question. A jagged laceration about one and a half inches long is located above her left eye. The left half of her forehead is smudged with red. A few trickles run around her eye and down the side of her face. But how? I don’t think it was from my punches...The fence. Destiny went face first into the fence when our legs tangled. Serves the bitch right, she was trying to kick me.
The ref orders us to resume fighting. Isn’t anyone going to check her out? As a nurse, the cut looks concerning. As a fighter, it’s a wonderful sight. We put our hands up. My fighter instinct takes over. I fire several jabs at the cut. She blocks them as the bell indicates the end to round seven. I walk to my corner confident as I know Destiny is in big trouble.
Hector reminds me that, according to the rules, if a fight is stopped due to an accident, the winner is determined by the scorecard up to that point. By his estimation, I’m behind due to the fouls called against me. But is anybody playing by the rules?
Destiny’s mother is applying pressure to her daughter’s wound. Billy enters the cage and examines Destiny. Now he’s talking to the ref. Is the fight being stopped? The nurse in me hopes so. Billy leaves the cage, the bell rings and the ref motions us to fight. Oh Christ, there really is going to be a round nine.
Destiny comes out of her corner with her left hand held high to protect the wound, which at this time seems to have a slight ooze of blood. She seems determined not to mix it up, instead she circles but not jabbing, using her left for defense. The fight has taken its toll on both of us. Destiny is not as fleet with her lateral movement and fades. My legs feel heavy as I decide to stalk her.
I fire a series of left jabs to the eye. She manages to block them but the left side of her body is open and vulnerable to my right hook. A few blows to the body back her up. She grabs on to my arms and shoulders, then slips away. For half the round, I land rights to the body. I know she feels them as I see her left hand lower. Finally, I jab a left into her glove, fake the right. Her left lowers, then BAM, a hard left finds the cut over the eye.
The bleeding has restarted. I repeat the process, digging rights to the body, forcing openings to the left. Blood trickles down her cheek, down the side of her nose. Her forehead is a mess. This must end. A big right to the head sends her down. It’s a matter of time now.
As Destiny is counted and a I wait in my neutral corner, a voice calls from behind me beyond the cage.
“Kiva,” calls a low male voice. “It’s Billy. NO. Don’t look. Don’t make it obvious. Just look straight ahead” What the fuck could this be about. At this point, nothing would be surprise me.
“Kiva, I need you to do something. I need you to lay down.”
“Lay down?”
“Yeah, lay down. As in take a dive.”
“You want me to throw the fight?” Holy shit. Could this dickhead possibly be more corrupt.
“Look,” the douchebag explains, “there’s a lot of money here tonight that says you’ll go to sleep before the final bell. Go down and you’re cut is five grand...Pretty good gig, right.”
I’m shocked into being speechless. I can’t even bring myself to answer him.
“Five grand and a shot at Jolene. I’ll let you kick Destiny’s ass later.”
Across the ring, Destiny manages to rise again. I leave my neutral corner, and Billy, without giving him a response. He doesn’t deserve one.
My opponent and I are ordered to resume fighting. Although I’m a nurse who is used to blood, I can’t stand to see Destiny. Her face is a mask of scarlet. Streams and rivulets of red run down to her neck and shoulders. Drops splatter across the ring.
Destiny tries to run and hold on as much as she can to avoid further damage. Even her attempts at dirty fouls have become feeble. I’m almost hitting her at will when she falls again. She manages to beat the count once more as the bell mercifully sounds to end round eight.
My trainers are disgusted, pleading to the referee to stop the fight for Destiny’s sake. Their instructions to me are simple. Go all out and end it.
Destiny staggers out of her corner. Her mother wiped away most of the blood but the wound is still oozing. It will open up easily. My legs feel heavier but I won’t need much to finish off Destiny. More right hands to the body, a left right left combination and down she goes. I see Billy is waiting for me outside my neutral corner.
“Okay, Kiva,” he says, “Seven and a half grand and I strip Jolene of her title and give it to you. You’re now the Housewives Division champ. You walk out of here tonight with all that.”
It makes sense now. The fouls, the incompetent referee, placing Destiny’s health in danger. This whole fucking fight was rigged. Even Destiny’s mom is involved. I was never supposed to win this fight.
Across the ring, unfortunately for her, Destiny has risen. The cut looks bigger. The bleeding is worse. The referee talks to her and holds her gloves. Is he finally stopping the fight. No, he’s doing something to her gloves. He’s giving her something. Or is he? Is it a blade? A bottle? A hypodermic syringe? No, can’t be. These people aren’t that smart. But they made me paranoid. Maybe there up to something. I can’t let them get inside my head. I need to focus and finish this........
What happened? I’m down. I was hit in the head and knocked into the fence. And now I’m lying on my side. Did someone throw something at me?...No...It was Destiny. She punched me. Hard. I was lost in my paranoia, became distracted, took my eye off of her. Now I’m down.
I’m facing the crowd. The noise seems like it’s coming through a tunnel. I see faces. I see Tom. I see Kelli and Jake. My vision is a little wavy. I see their horrified concerned expressions. I see Billy. He smiles at me and gives me a thumbs up. The bastard thinks I accepted his offer.
I roll over and lift up with my arms as the referee reaches a four count. I get to both knees, than one knee. I don’t know if I have my legs. I suppose I’ll find out. I might be finished. If I am, at least I’m getting paid a lot more than if I won.
“Seven...Eight.”
I turn my head again to the crowd. Tom, Kelli, and Jake are urging me. Billy is nodding at me and clapping his hands like he’s saying, “Good Job.”
Well, fuck you, Billy. I’m...
“Nine...”
UP!
Destiny looks defeated at the sight of me rising. My legs feel like lead. My eyes are glassy. But still, I know Destiny is worse. Her knockdown punch used up her last fiber of energy. She can barely raise her hands. Blood impairs her vision. To her credit, after cheating her ass off this fight, the little skank decides to die fighting.
She charges at me like a streamlined missile, her right hand cocked. She knows it’s her last chance and she hopes I’m too stunned to get out of the way. I brace myself and wait. The eighteen year old runs at me, digs her feet, and unleashes her right. It’s a very wild swing that I easily duck. The momentum has her entirely off balance as she stumbled with her hands down. The young woman is entirely defenseless against my right hook. This time, I need to make it count for good.
It does. My fist finds the angle of Destiny’s jaw. She is unconscious before she hits the canvas. The asshole referee counts to ten anyway instead of getting her the help she needs. I’m feeling lightheaded, dizzy and stiff myself. I know the pain will get worse when the adrenalin levels fall. They raise my hand and announce my name. I wobble to my corner where I’m hugged by my trainers. I watch them revive Destiny. I refuse to look at Billy. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I tell my cornermen.
.....
