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    Brute
    Brute
    Brute
    Ebook53 pages40 minutes

    Brute

    By Lex Williams

    ()

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    About this ebook

    WARNING: Contains high impact horror and mature themes. Discretion is advised.

    What if the world agreed with everything contemporary feminism ever stated or endorsed? How far would that go?

    Brute follows Brutus, a boxer, in an allegorical criticism of the words and deeds of contemporary feminism.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLex Williams
    Release dateSep 11, 2017
    ISBN9781370906055
    Brute
    Author

    Lex Williams

    Lex Williams is a novelettist ( although occasionally writing novellas with the rare novel ) whose intent is to take advantage of self-publishing stories to provide interesting, different and weird ideas that you won't find in traditionally published stories. Williams typically writes for the horror genre ( usually dipping into the surreal variety ), but has explored other areas, such as ( non erotic ) romance and science fiction.

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      Book preview

      Brute - Lex Williams

      Brute

      Lex Williams

      Distributed by Smashwords

      Copyright 2017 Lex Williams

      Thanks to my editor, Lee Cope, who I found through writerfind.com.

      Thanks to my cover artist, Pius Pranoto, who I found at deviantart.com under the username, telaga.

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Table of Contents

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      1

      The crowd of women roared, their screams ranging from encouragement to guttural noise. The distinctive whine of photographs being taken accompanied bright flashes. The announcers struggled to speak over the cacophony. It's Round Five!

      The referee stepped back as the two boxers circled each other. Sweat dripped from Brute's grin, down his neck, past his thick trunk and over his white, pleated shorts – they evoked a Roman style, of course. The flame-haired Deadbeat stared back, breathing hard in his bright green trunks.

      Green glitter sparkled behind Deadbeat as he rushed forward. The Irishman swung hard, his fists whistling past Brute, who weaved out of the way. Brute saw the opening and and responded with an uppercut.

      Deadbeat spat and growled. He tensed, and before Brute could put his guard back up, sprang forward. The Irishman's left hook was as fierce as his fury. Brute had known that before he stepped into the ring, but still, the blow sent him staggering across the ring. He shook the sweat and pain from his forearms. Arms weren't point scoring areas in boxing, but it still fucking hurt.

      Deadbeat lumbered across the ring. It felt like a sprint, with the fatigue setting in for both of them. The crowd screamed louder as he closed in.

      Brute stood straight, lowering his guard on his left side. Deadbeat took the bait. Brute slipped past one arm, and delivered a straight into the Irishman's face.

      The Italian backed away. The crowd roared like wild animals. Vague obscenities directed at no-one were briefly audible before being drowned out by all the noise.

      The Irishman turned to Brute, his eyes full of brimstone. He knew it was his mistake, but he was going to take it personally anyway. Deadbeat tensed, throwing the sweat from his arms, and dashed across the ring.

      Brute flitted around the furious fists. There was no break, and no opening he was willing to chance.

      Boxing isn't all about throwing punches, it's about patterns: hiding your own and discovering your opponent’s. Deadbeat was a skilled striker, but a poor planner. He always went for the obvious opening.

      Brute shifted his weight from foot to foot as he provided openings before making himself scarce. Deadbeat piled on the pressure, but the judges could see who was leading the dance.

      It didn't take long before the Irishman grew sluggish. Then there was an opening.

      Another shot to Deadbeat's stomach sent him

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