Before Autumn, After Spring By BBAgon

Chapter 2: One of those days

Three steps forward. A masterful veiny hand reached out to her. She takes four steps back, almost stumbling on herself. She sidestepped to the right as quick as she could. The hand reached out to her again, this time more aggressively. She hurriedly leaned her torso back, a mistake she realised immediately. With her center of gravity now offset, her opponent went in for the kill. A well-placed foot squeezed in between her two small feet, expertly positioned to further restrict her already limited movements. She refused to yield and pushed her opponent away. The desperate defensive move drained her. Offensively she was at a terrible disadvantage, she was smaller and lighter than her opponent. And she was much weaker muscle wise too. She regained her footing. Noting her previous mistakes, she circled her opponent cautiously, quick agile steps, making sure to maintain distance and proper footing. Beads of sweat suspended above her brows, frozen away from her eyes out of respect for her uninterrupted focus. Her entire body was just a waterfall of perspiration, even the mat below her had wet marks from the sweaty bottoms of her feet. Her opponent reached out several times, this time in rhythm to her circling dance. Reaching out when she pulls back, chasing her when she retreats. Gotcha. Her opponent reached out again, this time with slight impatience as she could happily sense. Her opponent might have longer limbs and a larger physique, but she in turn, was quick and nimble. With lightning fast precision, she slid under her opponent, her arms grabbing on to her opponent's over-extended arm and onto her opponent's exposed collar. Other parts of her body simultaneously assumed their respective roles, her knees on lock and her hips twisting her body into an artform. Leverage and balance. It was almost theatrical and poetic. How her opponent, three times her size, went flying in the air for half a second. She, the demigod, the monster slayer, poised majestically below, her slain victim thrown overhead and slammed onto hard earth without much effort. A loud and air-chilling THUD followed, echoing against the walls of the gymnasium. For a brief minute, she basked in the cinematics. Glory surged through her veins like a drug, the rush of conquest made her feel 10 feet tall. The monster lay defeated at her feet, she the hero, standing tall and victorious. Hercules has slain the Nemean Lion. Villagers and townsfolk rejoice!

She did not hear any cheers.

Instead was the flabbergasted voice of her manager, calling out to her from the far corner of the sparring mat. "Bona-yah..."

The epic movie in her head came to a screeching halt. She was at a Judo training center, and the man she just mercilessly threw overhead was her judo coach. This was one of her Judo lessons in preparation for her new drama. Walking towards her then was her manager, towel in hand and a face as white as bleached fabric. Bona too felt the colour of her complexion draining as she contemplated her own, about to be, tragically short acting career.

The man on the mat sprung up and dusted his white judo garb. He was laughing and Bona couldn't quite identify if it was a good laugh or bad.

"Miss Bona, I thought we were practicing" he said lightheartedly, "stances, Miss Bona, stances first before we go into the throwing part."

Thank god. I'm still employed. Was all Bona could think of as the coach shook her hand and patted her back with compliments. She slid a cheeky nervous smile to her manager, the poor woman looking like she had just escaped the grim reaper.

She had been out of focus all morning. Volatile. Unstable. Her manager, noting this early on during breakfast, recommended an evening schedule for judo practice since the coach would be available all day anyway. She ate a single cut of an egg sandwich, washed it down with a litre of ice coffee and just before sparing had downed another tumbler's worth of caffeine. Understandably, that made things worse. By the time the coach was teaching her stancing and evasion techniques, she was already a steam rolling, jet fueled infused, blood hungry cyborg. Slowly, the man in front of her started to phase in and out of this simulation she had created in her mind, in which she was Player 1 and the coach was this level boss she had to defeat.