BRINGIN' THE HURT (flash fiction)

Trixi had been with the roller derby roughly two years and felt every bit of it. Bruised and battered at the end of each season proved that these Texas gals took their game seriously and didn't fuck around. Her husband constantly reminded that they weren't in Minnesota anymore.

Many of these Lone Star dolls were ink-stained and pierced. She wasn't. At least nowhere visible. Most derby rollers adopted alter-egos much like rockabilly superheroes in the world of burlesque. And they all had their quirks. For example, Muffin Rolls was a bitch in real life but surprisingly sweet on the wood; The Duchess of Torque had a firm but fair sense of play and never talked during a match; Seka Destroy was once an Olympic gymnast and Thicka-than-a-Snicka was in it soley to crush the shit out of little girls.

The Southwestern teams had especially menacing monikers as the Mile Die Club, Poison Apples and Heavy Metal Hookers. She was on the Trippin Chix but aspired to roll someday with Austin's Puta Del Fuegos where their star Holly Peno kicked holy ass.

Tonight, though, Barrelhouse Bessy was fouling her incessantly and Trixi knew she have to put the bitch down when the referees weren't looking. Toward the end of the second period, she gave the signal as teammates Lady Gag Ya and Velvet Crush swished in front and obstructed the refs.

Trix elbowed Bessy in the gut so there'd be no visible damage. God, how she loved the hard thud of a dropped opponent. It worked, but not for long. Swoop DeVille, Bessy's captain quickly rolled up and pinned Trixi against the rail as they both went down. Stockings were ripped, faces slapped.

As Trix stood awaiting the penalty call, she couldn't help but hope there'd be enough time to grade some papers tonight before bed.