• I was walking down an empty short-cut, returning from work and safeway. The back alley was littered with empty beer bottles, smelly garbage, and a few substances that I didn't know, nor did I want to know what they were.
    This was not my best idea. Fourteen year old girl, average height, strength, blah, blah,blah, walking down an alleyway in the wrong neighbourhood at sunset. Looking back, now, it was a stupid idea. But I wanted to get home to Lizzie A.S.A.P.
    She was doing good. She watched alot of T.V., and when I came home, she had begun to try out all the different ways of welcoming me. When she ran out, she started on the cooking channels, and started making me supper. Heck, this morning, I needed to tell her to slow down, because it was my turn to cook. I'd sent her to grade two, and the genius child advanced to grade four. I felt like a worried mother when I saw her walking back to the house holding hands with a little boy a year older. Then I got mad because I've yet to have been asked on a date. Boys didn't really date their friends.
    Well, being as stupid as I was, I didn't realize that this was the perfect time and place to get beat up. And I didn't even realize my current situation until the titanium bat connected with my head.
    "I told you to hit her harder!"
    "I don't like sneaking up on people."
    "What?!"
    "What kind of opponent does that?"
    "A smart one?"
    "Look at her! She's just a teenager, and we're three big guys. That should be enough to take her down!"
    "Shut up, both of you! She'll get away!"
    Blood ran down into my eyes. I'd promised Lizzie that I'd wear the barret she put in my hair this morning. I didn't realize how sharp this thing was until now.
    I heard a familiar sound. A switchblade snapping into place. And I'd thought those were illegal in Canada. Silly me.
    Being dragged up by your hair isn't a pleasant thing, and I might suggest you don't try it. Oh, yeah, and neither is smelly breath and a knife at your throat. Don't try those, either.
    "Be a good girl, and we won't have to kill you. It's either you give us your money, or you take off your clothes."
    "Boys, let's try to keep this PG 13, okay?" I rasped. I'd already breathed in about 20 different diseases, and this knife was probably covered in 50 more. I felt warm blood drip down onto my shirt as punishment for my comment. To bad, sucker.
    I drove my heel up between the guy's legs, and that's when the fight began.