The Writers' Circle

The sharpness bites, causing a gush of consciousness.  I feel awake, my thoughts clear. I throw the lemon down, pick up Sarah's photo and kiss it one last time. I clumsily return it to the table, my pursed lips smudged on the glass. It's time to make a move.  I approach the door, kicking it open with my tightly fastened boot; it springs back against the wall. I quickly sidestep it as I leave my room.  The music starts and I feel my heart thudding, the blood surging round my body.  I feel ready.  I was born for this moment!  The present is all encompassing, dizzying. I hear people shouting and chanting my name.  It's time!

I start walking down the dark corridor, flipping up my hood with my constrained hands, the thumbs my only useful tentacle, debilitated by these heavy padded gloves, dreamt up for protection by the son of Poseidon in Ancient Greece.  The irony is that they cause greater damage than bare knuckles, less superficial injuries but more brain damage. I suppose nowadays it's better to look pretty than to be able to string together a coherent sentence.

Trying to stay focused, remembering the last 6 months of training.  I go through my routine of punches over and over again. This comforts me, I couldn't be more prepared. My face is dripping with sweat that melts the Vaseline my trainer has applied, thick globules running down my face which reflects the lights.  It always looks good on camera, a proper sportsman!  I enter the arena, the corridor opening out into a sea of people, only heads in the distance. There are 15,000 people here to see me; it's the pinnacle of my career, my last shot at the title.  The belt cast aside by the champion as he moves up a weight, we fight for the unclaimed crumbs from his table.  My senses are overwhelmed, the smell of dry ice, the shouting, the crowd grab me and cameras flash in my eyes.  My music is now filling the arena, the bass vibrating through my body and whipping people up into a frenzy, all baying for blood.  I walk to the ring, each step my nervousness dissipates slightly and my stomach is no longer present in my thoughts. Now's my time, I let the music fill me with confidence, the chanting of my name further fuels my positivity. I pass by the muscular security holding back the throng of the crowd who reach out to touch me.

This is going to be my night!  It's too easy to get caught up in the emotion and let pure adrenaline take over, becoming undisciplined and open to some heavy blows as you flail around looking possessed. I have to be calm; I have to fight using just the focus and determination that has got me this far, not the hatred that I have instilled in myself against my opponent.  I reach the ring and climb up the stairs where my man holds apart the ropes. I duck through onto the soft canvas.  Pumped up I make out I own the ring, ducking and weaving my way around the corners. I retreat to my corner.  My robe is pulled off. Camera thrust in my face. Last drink of water taken. Gum shield stuck in my mouth. I look across the ring and see him, the man that I will try to kill for 12 rounds and then hug and compliment afterwards.  Words thrust into my ear by my trainer that never reach my mind. I'm pushed towards the centre.

Master of Ceremonies shouts our names in an overdramatic manner, crowd jeer or cheer accordingly.  Contested belts are held aloft by busty blondes.  No one looks at the belts, just the breasts underneath.  Referee reminds us of our duties. We size each other up. Unflinchingly stare into each other's eyes. Hit gloves. Retreat to corner for last time.  Bell rings. We both move towards the centre. Dance around tentatively sounding each other out.   A few jabs to distinguish range. Move around to check out the speed and nimbleness of my opponent.  Sights set. We close in.. too close. A grabbed hug. Broken up by the referee. Signaled to continue. A small flurry of excitement, we exchange punches. The crowd roars. I move in to see what he's really made of, with a combination of punches. His defense holds up, his head tucked tightly between his bulging biceps and elbows protecting his midriff.

At my age I must attack from the first round as I will tire badly towards the end. I up my game.  I start throwing punches, hard and fast, taking the fight to him. He knows my plan and looks to just soak up my energy expenditure, tucked up like a turtle.  I manage to get a shot to the kidneys, my trademark. I see him wince as he steps back.  I follow him as he retreats to the ropes, a fast combination to the head which penetrates his loosened defense. No escape from me, well not in this round. 

As I get close he grabs hold of me and we fall against the thick ropes, which strain under our weight. I try to get a couple of punches in on the inside, but he pulls me even closer. I look up over his right shoulder, a sea of animated faces greets me, excited after the first piece of real action.  There is one person who is standing there emotionless that grasps my focus. Just staring at me, her arms crossed, looking pale and accusing. It can't be her; she's just staring at me, everything else a blur of movement around her.  It IS her, but she died, it was my fault.  I remember holding the lifeless body in my arms, crying and feeling helpless!

My opponent pushes me off him, I stumble back still in disbelief.   I get a flashback of the young girl in front of the car. My panic. Slamming on the brakes. I was going too fast there was no way I was going to stop. Crash I hit her hard. Crash I feel a punch to the side of my face.

My opponent slightly bemused senses blood as I stumble back in shock, leaving myself open.  Throwing another strong jab. Crash!  She is thrown up and her face flies towards my windscreen.  The girl I now know as Sally smashes into the glass. Smash another flurry of punches reach my unguarded face. Dazed I stumble back further.

Life slows down as I relive the horrors.  The demons I fought to overcome never really left.  If only I was found guilty I would have felt justice had been served.  I deserve every punch I receive; vindication for my actions as she watches on and everyone around her celebrate my pain.

She flies off the car and hits the hard concrete. Crash. I lose control, swerve off the road smashing into a wall. I'm thrown forward. Crash. A blow to the face, bursting my nose and exploding blood everywhere.  

Another punch to finish me, full force straight onto my nose.   I feel my legs go and fall backwards. As I fall the spotlights blind me like the headlights of an oncoming car aimed to put me to the grave. Then just darkness as my head hits the ground.  I have escaped from the guilt that ravishes my mind.