KIERAN BLACKWOOD
The first blow hits the man hard, and he falls to the ground with a dull thud.
The sound of his body hitting the concrete echoes around me, but there is no time to think.
Another man, stumbling drunk, charges towards me, his eyes clouded with alcohol and fury.
But I'm faster. I always have been. The anger burns inside me like fire, uncontrollable and growing. There is no hesitation in my movements.
I prepare for the next attack, watching the clumsy movements of the second man.
He stumbles and tries to land an uncoordinated punch, but I block it easily, my body responding almost automatically.
With a quick move, I strike him in the stomach, bending him in half.
He groans and falls to his knees, clutching his belly as if his life depends on it.
They are all drunk.
