O.K.A.Y.
So I've died for a long time, but I believe I'll bring something to the journal since I've abandoned writing for so long:
Can't Think of a Title
PG
Word Count: 100 words
A punch in the gut. A sharp kick to the ankle. A swift hook at the jaw. Moving lightning fast, Zell dodges the counter blow aimed at his temple and follows through with a somersault, his heels cutting through the air like a blade.
He grins at his opponents' obvious frustration; they hadn’t once hit him and they'd been engaged in this fight well over an hour now. Briefly, Zell wonders how they are still fighting on. Regardless of this thought, another approaches him with a pipe raised steadily. This guy was going to be different. Dangerous. He just knew.
Can't Think of a Title
PG
Word Count: 100 words
A punch in the gut. A sharp kick to the ankle. A swift hook at the jaw. Moving lightning fast, Zell dodges the counter blow aimed at his temple and follows through with a somersault, his heels cutting through the air like a blade.
He grins at his opponents' obvious frustration; they hadn’t once hit him and they'd been engaged in this fight well over an hour now. Briefly, Zell wonders how they are still fighting on. Regardless of this thought, another approaches him with a pipe raised steadily. This guy was going to be different. Dangerous. He just knew.