Anyone that says fighting is fun is an idiot! Not the Saturday night, young guys fighting but real fighting with the intent to kill. Sure the adrenaline is going and we get that testosterone rush. Better than sex, right? Well, I have seen it up close and even most participants don’t want it, not when it gets that serious.

We headed back to the car, all of us in my family. It was a good dinner. I wanted to get home and back to my video game. My sister needed to finish her homework or something. She was also anxious to get back and led us.

We didn’t make it to the car. We weren’t paying attention to anything in particular and walked into the middle of two groups getting ready to fight. I’d heard of gangs in the south and east side, but here in the northwest? I looked it up later, and sure enough, there are Northside Crips. Who knew that parking a block back would be so precarious? Now we were in the middle of it, and we were more interesting to them than fighting each other.

The atmosphere got weird. They checked us out, little bits of laughter as they assessed us nerds. I looked around; we were surrounded. Our presence united them to the sole purpose of harassing us, particularly my sister, Tara. They were assessing her. I heard snickers as they tried to surround her. I was getting nervous, very nervous.

I looked at Dad. He was about to speak and move, then my mom did something …well, odd. She kicked off her sandals. Mom always wore sandals. I thought because she was hot, this being Tucson, but I guess that wasn’t the only reason; they were easily shed. She stood there, swaying. Not in a drunk way, more like a predatory way, crouched and staring forward like a praying mantis. All she needed to do was raise her arms and hiss; it looked that intense and weird. Mom’s face was slack, looking at the man in front of her and probably using her peripheral vision as well. She crouched on her heels, rose up, and raised each leg, sequentially. I realized she was stretching.

Mom cleared her throat and spoke intensely, staring at that man, who I’m guessing was one of leaders.

“Excuse me.”

Dad’s mouth fell open. Tara and I stared at the focus of the attention: my mom. All of the attention was now on my mother. The moment was frozen. Mom spoke calmly.

“The first thing I was really taught was how not to kill. Killing is easy, most dominants know how, but not killing, that is tricky.”

We heard some muttering.

“Who does she think she is?”

“Think you’re tough?”

“Definitely,” she answered.

As she spoke, she started to move around, finishing her warm up and checking out all the guys.

“I am brought in to protect, but I cannot be psychologically compromised, and threatening my family qualifies for that. I am warning you, be careful what you do. This decision could be your last.”

It was a warning, but I didn’t think they took it seriously. I saw smiles on some of the guys’ faces.

With this last statement, Mom moved. Fastest thing I have ever seen, a true blur. My father stared at her. He seemed to want to say things like,- What are you doing? or We need to get out of here. He even reached out as if to calm her down, but I never sensed she was excited, just focused. I caught a glow around her. Dad saw that and couldn’t quite get around that either. Right then, I knew this was not the mother I had always known.

The talk from our attackers turned to “You bitch,” and then just scuffling.

Mom was on the leader of the group she had been staring at and his second on the right. Her hands shot out and she had a choke hold on each one, raising them up off the ground. Their eyes were wide, almost popping out. With her left leg she kneed the guy to the left of the leader. Pretty effective, he went down. Then her right leg came back and did the same with a guy approaching from behind. Two came off from the ranks and tried to punch her. I winced, who would hit an old woman? But they couldn’t connect. Their fists stopped a few inches from her body and then they pulled back, shaking their hands in pain. She didn’t move a bit in response.

Mom spoke to the two in her grasp.

“Hold on to my arm.”

The subordinate didn’t quite understand but the leader did and grabbed her there. They had tried to get her to release them, kicking and squirming but now they were losing air, eager not to pass out. I could sense a lot of frustration and hear grumbling from the guys around her. Mom lifted her captives up higher; their legs were like noodles and dangled. She swung those guys around and they hit the others in the group that circled her. I guess it hurts to get hit by a human noodle. They went down. Then Mom lowered the leader and his subordinate to the ground. They lay there, coughing and staring. No one moved, no one approached her.

“I, too, am a warrior. The first thing a warrior learns is to protect the innocent. Without that you are without honor, without honor you are nothing,” she said.

The leader nodded. She held out her hands and pulled them both up. She looked around and recovered her sandals. It was all over, only a few heartbeats had passed.

She never really discussed anything afterwards, just a few short answers here and there to our questions. I did sleep very easy that night, though- after all I am part of her family, but I took out the garbage even before it was needed from then on.

The End

This story is meant to be one of the initial fights in a superhero story.

Image Shutterstock Image #2580105133 purchased 11/23/25

© JM Strasser November 2025 All Rights Reserved