Peterson boxing picture courtesy mybaycity.com

Written by Lilith Raymour

The boy walked into the high class restaurant. Maybe they didn’t see him because they were to busy. Just as likely they didn’t see him because he was a little boy in a busy, high class, restaurant who probably was just going back to his parent’s table. He walked past the the cash register and the maitre d’. The waiters and waitresses rushed around him. He walked up to the table where Kansas City Keith was celebrating his latest win; yet another opponent who died during the fight. He was laughing and joking with the staff about his “deadly right hook.”

“Why look, Kansas City, you have a young fan who wants to play box with you.”

One hand held up as if to box, formed into a fist. But no one had noticed what the boy was carrying in his other hand.

Keith laugh and formed his hands into fists, getting ready to pretend box with the boy. But before Keith could completely turn around, the boy lifted the sledge hammer and said, “You killed my father.”

That was Kansas City Keith’s last fight.
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©Copyright 2011
Lilith Raymour
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