Twelve Years Old

‘If you tell me any more stories about being twelve years old, I’m going to have to punch you.’

He holds up his hands.

‘Please don’t, I’m banged up enough as it is.’

She scans his face. He looks a lot better.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Not bad. But not good enough to withstand punches.’

‘Why did you leave? Sounds like you used to love it.’

‘I turned thirteen. I wanted to see the world. I wanted something better. Something more thrilling.’

‘Wanna know where I spent all my time when I was twelve? Locked up in a bloody cage.’